#Everyone in this play is exceptional though

[bapeach]

Valentine's Day

Anyone else suck at writing summaries for their stories? Anyways, happy belated Valentine's! I hadn't planned on writing a Valentine's related story, but here we are. Hope you all enjoy! Constructive criticism is always welcome :D Find my masterlist here :)

Pairing(s): Paige Bueckers x female!reader  Word count: 4.8k+ Warnings: a bit clinché, swearing, long-distance Summary: Valentine's Day isn't so bad when you get to call with your long-distance best friend, except things don't really go the way you planned. You're not mad about it, though. ------------

Valentine's Day. A day loved by many and hated by even more. 

You belonged in the latter category. Why did couples need an extra day to celebrate their relationship? Why would you require an extra day to be nice to your partner when you should do that any other day as well? The only thing this holiday does is make single people feel bad. You’re not bitter about it or anything, it’s just a fact, okay fine, you’re a little salty.

Today is another Valentine that you’re spending single, but this time at least you have plans! While most of your friends were going to be off on dates, you were going to be calling your long-distance best friend and making fun of the whole holiday. To say you were excited to talk to the girl was an understatement.

Being a student-athlete wasn’t easy, Paige had complained about her busy schedule enough for you to know. Not that she had to, you could tell how exhausted she was whenever she found a bit of time to call you between school, homework, and basketball. It saddened you to know the blonde was wearing herself out completely to be the perfect student while also making sure she’s the best basketball player she can be. She barely ever has time to relax, and you’re scared she’s going to give herself a burn-out.

You were glad Paige found time today to hang out with you. You’ve missed her more than you thought you could ever miss anyone, not having heard her voice in weeks and only having gotten short messages to let you know she’s still alive. 

“Everyone is gonna be out and about on friday after practice so I’ll have the dorm to myself, FaceTime at 10:30?” Her message had read last Sunday, and you’d immediately agreed. While you knew the Valentine’s Day hangout was just a friendly hangout between best friends, you liked pretending it would be a date. 

When you met Paige, you never thought you’d ever fall for her so deeply, let alone be such good friends with her. But here you were, 6 years later, with the biggest crush on her.

When your mom sent you to a random month-long summer camp when you were 16, you’d protested with your whole being. You’d much rather stay home, bundled up on the couch all summer, re-reading your favorite book series, not going to a random camp out in the wild. “You’ll learn so much stuff! And you’ll make friends for life!” She’d said, making you roll your eyes. You didn’t believe a word she’d said, knowing that even if you managed to make friends, you’d only talk to them for that summer and maybe a month after.

You didn’t meet Paige until a week into camp. Her cabin was nowhere near yours, and so you weren’t in the same activity groups as her. One of your roommates had met her one night when she couldn’t sleep and went on a walk. She said you two would get along well, but the more she talked about the blonde, the less likely it seemed to you.

While you were shy, loved staying in, let people walk all over you, and were a bit of a teacher’s pet, 16-year-old Paige was the complete opposite. She was outgoing and friendly, and she loved teasing people even when she didn’t know them. She preferred the outdoors, getting restless when she had to stay in and couldn’t play her sports. She loved breaking the rules and always seemed to get away with it too, her charisma being able to charm all the camp leaders.

When your cabinmate had called her over during dinner, you were incredibly intimidated by the taller girl. She towered over you with a big grin, her blue eyes wide and full of mischief. She was loud and immediately set her eyes on you when she noticed your quietness. When your friends had joked about how shy you were, she’d only grinned wider, saying she was going to get you to come out of your shell.

She managed to win you over a lot faster than you dared to admit. After that dinner, she was always able to spot you in the crowd, coming over to tease you or introduce you to more people. Within a week, you two were glued at the hip. She managed to do what she said she would, making you a little less afraid to speak your mind, while you were able to bring a calm to her that no one knew existed.

You swore saying goodbye to her at the end of camp was one of the hardest things you’d ever had to do. You were quite dramatic at times. Sadly, you’d been right about the not staying friends thing. You two sent each other two letters once camp was over and called five times before life got too busy with school, extracurriculars, and new friends. After that, you didn’t talk for two years.

The next time you saw her again, you thought you were dreaming. You were touring different universities and had just finished the UConn one. Paige had managed to get even taller, her muscles were more defined, and she’d finally found her style. You thought you were mistaken at first, but then her bright eyes found yours, and a wide smile made its way onto her face. She excused herself from the conversation she was in and jogged over to you, not letting you say more than a hi before pulling you into a hug. You let yourself fall into the comfortable, familiar feeling, sinking into her as you hug her back.

This time, when you two parted and said you’d stay in touch, you actually did. Sadly, you didn’t end up going to UConn, instead choosing a university over two hours away from the blonde. Keeping in contact was easier now that you were older and more mature. You called each other multiple times a month, texting almost daily, and even met up IRL whenever you could. You’d attended quite a few of her games, and she even surprised you on your birthday last year.

That birthday is your favorite one so far. Paige had surprised you with flowers and a book you’d been wanting for ages. She spoiled you like crazy that day, even staying the night at your dorm before having to go back to UConn. The day after was the day you realized you were head over heels for her. You became aware of the fact that the butterflies you felt in your stomach weren’t just from being excited at seeing your best friend, they were actually because you had a crush on her.

You never told her about your feelings, however. You figured she only saw you as a friend and knew that there were hundreds of girls throwing themselves at her feet, so why would she choose someone who didn’t even live in the same state as her? 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts as you readjust yourself on your bed. Seeing it’s already 10:28, you open your camera to make sure you look okay. Patting down the flyaway hairs, you smile at your reflection. Closing the app, you grab your water bottle to take a sip and calm your growing nerves.

Knowing you’ll be even more nervous if you keep staring at the seconds tick by, you open TikTok and scroll on your FYP to pass the time. You quickly realize that wasn’t the best idea, seeing as there are only edits of Paige on your screen. Your face becomes a bright red as you watch the videos and save them all. You close the app after seeing an edit that makes you feel certain things, fanning your face as you try to get rid of your blush. 

When you look at the time again, you shake your head in amusement. 10:35. In the years that you’ve known the blonde, there haven’t been many instances in which the girl has been on time. Usually, it bothers you to no end when someone is late. It makes you feel as though they don’t respect you enough to be on time. With the blonde, it’s different, however. 

It’s cute to see her all flustered, apologizing again and again for her tardiness. It makes you laugh when she pouts at you, complaining about how her laptop had to do another update, how her alarm didn’t go off, or how Geno always has it out for her during the practices before a call. You grin when she leaves out the part where she was once again being a menace at practice, teasing her about it after Nika texts you to let you know Paige will be late and why.

You send her a quick text, asking if she managed to piss off Geno again, before checking to see if the Croatian had texted you anything. After another 5 minutes pass, you frown a little, slightly worried about the blonde. When your phone buzzes, you sit up straighter, fluffing up your hair a bit as you prepare to start the call. Grabbing your phone, you expect a “Sorry I’m late! You ready?” message, but you deflate instead.

“Hey, sorry I can’t call 2day, feeling exhausted, rain check?” It reads.

Of course, this isn’t the first time Paige has had to cancel on you. You understood that her busy schedule left her incredibly exhausted, and you knew she hated herself every time she had to cancel. Usually she pushed through, calling you anyway and falling asleep within 10 minutes of the call. She’d apologize profusely, a big frown on her face as her eyes turn a murky blue in sadness. You always told her you didn’t mind, you actually found it cute how her tired eyes would slowly blink at you before finally closing. 

The fact that she actually canceled this time meant she didn’t feel good at all, so you let her know it was okay and that you’d talk soon. Once you wish her sweet dreams as she goes to take a nap, you close your laptop with more force than necessary. 

While you typically wouldn’t mind all that much, you did this time. You missed her like crazy, you hadn’t had the easiest week, all your friends were out having fun, and to top it all off, you were about to have your period, making you even crankier than usual. You sit in silence for a moment as you try to blink away your tears. You press your palms to your eyes as you shake your head. Slapping your cheeks softly, you try to snap out of it. “Don’t be such a little baby,” you think to yourself.

You get up and stretch before pausing in the middle of the room. You look around a little lost, unsure of what to do now that your plans fell through. You bite your lip as you think about the tub of ice cream you left in your freezer for when you had a bad day. You pout as you realize you’ll spend yet another Valentine’s Day watching a cheesy movie that’ll make you cry into your ice cream.

Right as you’re about to open the freezer, you hear a knock at the door. You throw your head back, holding in a groan as you debate pretending no one is home. You knew it was most likely your roommate, who knew you were going to be home, having forgotten her keys again, so you make your way over to the door. 

You take a quick peek into the mirror to check if your eyes look red from your mini breakdown, silently cursing when they do. Rolling your eyes at yourself, you open the door, ready to tell your roommate to not mention it.

You freeze as your jaw drops open. Paige is standing in the hallway, holding a bouquet of red roses and a big teddy bear, a wide smile carved on her face. “Surprise,” she says, her voice soft as she takes you in. You cover your mouth with your hand as tears well up in your eyes again. “Damn these hormones,” you think, blinking to make them go away.

Seeing your watery eyes, the blonde’s smile softens as she mutters a “C’mere.” You fall into her open arms, squeezing her tightly as you nuzzle your face into the crook of her neck. Paige leans her head against yours, pressing a gentle kiss against your temple. She slowly shuffles you backward into your dorm, using her foot to close the door behind her.

Once you realize the way you’re gripping onto her, you let her go, heat creeping up your face. You feel a bit embarrassed, but the feeling gets taken over by the happiness of finally being near the blonde again. “What’re you doing here?” You breathe out as you look at her in childlike wonder. “Wanted to spend Valentine’s with my favorite girl,” she replies, shoving the flowers and bear towards you. The butterflies in your stomach flutter around as you take the gifts with a wide smile, your cheeks bright red at the nickname.

You quickly put the flowers in a vase with some water before setting the teddy bear down on the couch. When you turn back towards Paige, you see her already staring at you with a soft look in her eyes. You skip back over to her, flinging yourself back into her arms, making her chuckle. “Thank you,” you mutter against her shirt, fondness seeping through in your voice.

You pull back slightly with a loving smile, looking up at her but not leaving her arms. She moves one hand away from your back, bringing it towards your face as she rubs your cheek. “Anything for you,” she mumbles as she takes in your face like she’s trying to memorize every bit of it. You can feel your face heat up, but you can’t look away. Your heart beats faster as you admire her, waiting to see what’s on her mind as you see different emotions swim around in her eyes. 

Softly clearing her throat, she steps back nervously as she takes an envelope out of her pocket. She shifts her weight from foot to foot as she looks down at the envelope, her throat bobbing as she swallows harshly. “I, uh,” she starts, biting her lip before looking up at you with an anxious yet hopeful look. “This is for you,” she says, handing you the envelope. You raise an eyebrow at her as you ask, “What’s this?”

“Jus open it,” she says, fidgeting with her sleeve. You open the envelope tentatively, a little nervous at how anxious the usually confident girl is. Folding open the pink letter, you scan the page, smelling her perfume as if she sprayed it on the paper. You smile in adoration as you see the usual scribbly handwriting, this time a little less messy. Taking a quick glance at the girl, you see her rub her neck, nodding at you to read it. Your heart skips a beat as you read the words. 

It’s… It’s a love confession. 

You grip the paper a little tighter as you read about how Paige has had a crush on you for the past two years and how much you mean to her. Your eyes stay glued to the page until you reach the end. “Will you be my valentine?” The last sentence reads.

You look up at her in shock, excitement bubbling in your chest. The athlete is still looking at you, her eyes wide and hopeful. “Really?” You whisper, not wanting to break the intimate atmosphere. She nods her head as she bites her lip shyly. A broad smile spreads across your face as you nod enthusiastically. “Yes!” You say, your voice a bit higher as you’re unable to contain your joy.

“Yeah?” Paige grins, her confident, cheerful self showing again. She grabs you again, lifting you up as she twirls you around. You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips at the giddiness you’re feeling. “Okay, uhh, I’ve made dinner plans for tonight, but I was thinking we could just chill here for a bit and then go get lunch in that cute little café we went to last time I was here!” The blue-eyed girl beams.

You’re already nodding your head before she finishes her sentence, knowing you’d do anything with the girl. Seeing as you still have some time before you need to start getting ready, you drag the basketball player to your couch. You let her sit down first before settling down next to her and swinging your legs over her lap. You’d been in this position plenty of times before, but those times never felt as intimate as this time.

Your heart thrums in your chest as Paige immediately rests her hands on your legs, rubbing them softly as she relaxes into her seat. You hold your new teddy bear against your chest as you watch the blonde fondly. Catching you staring, she sends you a smirk, making you look down with a chuckle.

“So, how’d you manage to get coach to let you skip practice?” You ask, your head tilted in question. “Oh, that was easy, he loves me, so he said he’d let me skip for once,” she replies smoothly. You huff out a laugh as she says that, mischief clear in her eyes. “You’re such a liar,” you grin back. “Okay, okay, maybe that’s not exactly how it went,” she rolls her eyes playfully. You look at her triumphantly as she gives your leg a little squeeze, more amused than annoyed that you caught her. “He said I could skip, but that my next practice is gonna be extra hard.” 

You look at her in amusement but also slight worry. “You didn’t have to do this, you know? I would’ve been happy with just a phone call. I don’t want you to work yourself to the point of passing out,” you reply, your brows furrowed slightly in concern. She shakes her head, bringing one hand to your face to smooth out your frown. “I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. Besides, I think I would’ve gone insane if I didn’t see you soon,” she says, her voice more vulnerable than you’re used to.

Your lips curve back into a smile as she continues. “And stop worrying about me so much, I’m okay. If things get too much, I’ll let you know, I promise.” She sticks out her pinky finger, grinning at you as you interlace yours with hers.

You two keep talking until it’s time to get ready for lunch. Seeing as Paige is already dressed, you leave her on your couch as you walk up to your closet to pick a nice outfit before running to the bathroom to put yourself together. Once you’re satisfied, you return to the couch, blushing as you see the blonde check you out. You raise your eyebrow and send her a teasing grin, letting her know you caught her. She simply sends you a smirk back as she gets up.

There’s not a moment of silence on the way to the café as you two talk about the latest things in your lives. You talk about classes, basketball, family, friends, and the weird dreams you’ve had. The conversation continues to flow during lunch and into the afternoon as you walk around the city with Paige. A smile is permanently etched into your face as you stroll around with your hand in the blonde’s. While her hand is a bit rough from playing so much basketball, it’s still very soft. She rubs her thumb across your knuckles as she animatedly talks about the shenanigans she’s been up to with the team.

When you stop for ice cream, you order your favorite flavor before noticing Paige taking another flavor you love. It confuses you a little, knowing she doesn’t really like it, but you don’t really pay any mind to it as you continue rambling about what your professor did last class. When you sit down, you enjoy your ice cream as you listen to the girl in front of you. She takes small bites in between sentences, making her still have half of it left when you’re done with yours. As she talks, she starts feeding you some of her cup, making you smile at how cheesy you two are being. You don’t mind, though, this is exactly what you’d dreamed of.

When you notice the blonde isn’t eating her ice cream anymore, only feeding you, you go to protest. You don’t get the chance to, however, as the girl knew what you were up to. She quickly shoves another spoonful into your mouth when you open it to speak, rolling your eyes playfully. She grins as she shrugs a little.

Once you two are done, you walk back towards your dorm, silently thanking your roommate for having her own plans and not being home. Once inside, you guide the blonde to your bed, plopping down as you put on a random show for background sounds. You spend hours talking about everything and nothing, laughing harder than you have in months. 

“So, this dinner, where are we going?” You ask Paige as you crane your neck up from where you’re lying against her. She pretends to lock her mouth and throw away the key, making you roll your eyes. “You’re so unhelpful, y’know that?” She laughs, knowing it’s true. “Can you at least tell me what the vibe is? Do I need to dress fancy?” You question as you get up and walk over to your closet. You rifle through your options as the athlete speaks. “Semi-formal, I guess,” she shrugs, getting up herself. “Where are you going?” You ask as she starts walking towards the door. 

“Gonna grab my bag from my car, I’m not going to dinner in this outfit,” she replies, making you nod in understanding. Once she’s gone, you pause for a moment, pinching yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming. When you know for sure you’re not, you let out an excited squeal before calming yourself down and getting ready. Once you’re dressed, you sit down in front of your mirror to apply some light make-up.

You hear Paige walk back in, having borrowed your keys, as you’re applying mascara. Once you’re done, you look at her through the mirror and send her a bashful smile. She doesn’t smile back, too enthralled by your beauty. You shake your head as you giggle, grabbing your lip gloss. You lean in a bit closer to the mirror, applying a thin layer of gloss to make your lips shine. You glance over at Paige, seeing her eye the applicator as you glide it across your lips. She swallows harshly when you make eye contact, looking away sheepishly as she walks over to get ready in the bathroom. 

You scroll through Instagram as you wait for the blonde, liking the Valentine’s Day posts from your friends. When you hear the bathroom door open, you glance up, your throat going dry. Paige always looked gorgeous, but right now, you think she’s never looked better. She smiles softly at you as you take her in. She doesn’t tease you about the way you’re basically drooling over her, knowing she’s just as enamored.

“You look beautiful,” she says, grabbing your hand and giving it a soft squeeze. “Says you,” you grin with rosy cheeks. Her eyes twinkle with happiness as she leads you to the door. “Oh, one sec!” You mutter, running back towards your dresser to grab something. You quickly put the tiny box in your bag before walking back over to Paige. “Alright, I’m ready,” you say, rocking back and forth in excitement.

You walk towards the taller girl’s car in comfortable silence, your hand in hers, fingers interlinked. You let her open the passenger door for you, chuckling at her as she gives you a bow. “M’lady,” she tries to say seriously, but she can’t stop the smile growing on her face. “You’re such a dork,” you reply as you get in, hoping she doesn’t notice the bright color of your cheeks.

Once you two are on the road, Paige takes one hand off of the steering wheel, putting her arm on the center console. You look at it for a moment before grabbing her hand and interlacing your fingers once more. You take a peek at the blonde to see her reaction and feel your stomach flutter when you see her sporting a tiny, content smile.

Once you get to the restaurant, you look around in awe. It was beautiful. You still can’t believe that all of this is real. That Paige Bueckers, your best friend, is taking you out on a date and treating you like a queen. Your cheeks hurt from how much you’ve been smiling all day. 

You two share a bottle of wine as you enjoy your food, letting one another taste each other’s dishes, grinning when you find the other’s food better. You giggle as you switch your plates around, not paying any mind to the looks you’re receiving. After finishing your meal, you order dessert, sharing the sweet treat, feeling pretty full from dinner. 

Once you’re done, Paige pulls out a wrapped box with a tiny ribbon bow. For a moment you’re confused where it came from, but you quickly dismiss your confusion. “Paige, you didn’t have to get me anything! You’ve already paid for everything today,” you whine, feeling bad about how much the girl is spending on you. “Oh hush,” she says, “I love spoiling my girl.” “Your girl, huh?” You tease with a grin. She rolls her eyes lightheartedly. “Open itttt,” she says impatiently.

You giggle as you open it, letting out a gasp as you see the bracelet inside. “Paige…” you breathe out, “this is beautiful.” “Yeah? You like it?” She asks, hoping you’re speaking the truth. You nod eagerly, flashing her a toothy smile as you brush your thumb over the P charm. “I was scared it would be too possessive, giving you something with my initial on it for our first date,” she admits, scratching her temple. “I love it, P,” you say, letting her help you put it on.

You grab your bag, pulling out your own gift box. “You didn’t,” Paige grins as you hand it to her. “I did,” you grin back. “How? You didn’t even know I was coming today,” she asks, giving you a curious look. “I got this a while back and was just waiting for the perfect moment to give it to you,” you say, your heart drumming in your ears as you nervously wait for her reaction. Her face lights up at the sight of the new chain you’d gotten her. She lifts it out of the box, letting it shine in the dim restaurant lights.

She taps the tiny basketball pendant as it swings on the chain. The blonde sends you a radiant smile, her eyes shining with love. “Thank you,” she says, adoration clear in her voice. You raise one finger, making her pause. You rummage in your bag, grabbing a tiny plastic bag, before handing it to her with a smirk. She holds it close, laughing as she realizes what it is. Opening the bag, she grabs the tiny charm, twirling it between her fingers. “I see we had the same idea,” she smiles, her cheeks becoming a soft pink at the thought of wearing your initial on her neck. 

You help her put it on before waving over the waiter for the bill. You begrudgingly let Paige pay, knowing you’d never win that fight against her. You hold her hand as you walk towards her car, squeezing it softly. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst with joy and adoration. Once you reach the car, you look at the taller girl as she pauses. 

Her eyes flit over your face as she softly grabs your hips. She steps closer, gently pushing you against the car. She leans in closer, her eyes looking into yours with a questioning look. Your heart skips a beat as you nod lightly. The blue-eyed girl leans even closer, her lips hovering over yours for a moment to give you an extra second to change your mind. When you don’t, she presses her lips against yours in a slow but deep kiss. You grab her face, trying to pull her even closer as you close your eyes. After a minute, you pull away slightly to catch your breath. You move your hands towards her neck as you play with her baby hairs. The smile she sends you makes you weak in the knees, making you silently thank God that you’re leaning against the car. 

“Be mine?” Paige breathes, her question sounding almost like a statement. You don’t need to think twice as you nod, pulling her into another kiss.

You know it won’t be easy, being in a relationship while you’re miles apart, but you know that it’s all worth it when you get to call this amazing girl yours.

[lolkency]

XO

┊your boss mr. nanami asks you to stay at work overtime on valentine’s day

��� nanami x reader

cw: vaginal fingering, sexual intercourse, praising, forbidden work romance

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

JUJUTSU TECH INC.

You sat at your desk constantly checking the time on your computer, it was around an hour until it was time to clock out.

Working at one of the largest cyber security companies would be interesting if you actually did any work.

You were the assistant to CEO Kento Nanami, who was appointed the position when the old CEO passed.

Apparently he was one of his best workers, which made him the company's youngest CEO ever at 27, not that you kept up with stuff like that...

As his assistant, you didn't really do much, just answered calls, ran errands, and played solitaire on your computer when there was nothing to do. The only time your job was interesting was when Mr. Nanami went to meetings, since he always asked you to accompany him, even though you didn't do much at them.

Your friends often liked to joke that you were just eye candy for Mr. Nanami, and you would think that too, if he ever looked at you.

Although Mr. Nanami was a nice boss to everyone at the company, he for some reason rarely ever looked you in the eyes, and when he did it was only for a brief moment.

When you went into his office, he was always looking at anything but you, and when he did look up, he avoided your eyes.

So, he couldn't be keeping you around as eye candy, if he didn't even look AT you.

It wasn't like this was something you pondered about often, keeping you awake at night...nope you couldn't care less if your boss liked you or not.

*RINGGGG*

You snapped out of your daze, picking up the phone. "Hello Jujutsu Tech, how may I help you?" you answered with your corporate voice.

"Y/n" Mr.Nanami spoke on the other end.

"Sir?"

"Come to my office, please"

"Yes s-" he hung up before you could finish your response. He was very blunt with his calls, always getting straight to the point. You wondered what he could want, maybe he had some papers for you to run to Satoru again before you left.

You let out a sigh, and walked to his office, which was adjacent to yours. You gave his door a few knocks, waiting for a response.

"Come in y/n" his voice muffled behind the door.

"How do you know it’s me every time" you questioned, entering the office, closing the door behind you.

"You're the only one I called to my office" he replied matter of factly, his eyes on his computer.

"Oh duh" you let out a dry chuckle...tough crowd.

What you didn't know was that Nanami had memorized the sound of your heels on the epoxy flooring, he knew you were coming even before you knocked on his door. He liked to tell himself it was because you had to come into his office so often that he remembered your walking pattern.

"So, what did you need me to do?" You asked, smiling down at him, not that he could see it, his attention still on his screen.

"I just wanted to inform you that I'll need you to stay for a few hours longer tonight. I need to redo parts of the presentation before the meeting tomorrow" he sighed, bringing a hand to rub his eyes under his glasses.

He seemed tired, overworked. Mr. Nanami was the type of boss to do the work himself, he didn't like to burden the other workers with his job. Well, except for you, but even then you never really did much, but he'd never asked you to work overtime.

"Um Mr. Nanami, you do know it's Valentines Day, right?" You asked, hoping he would consider your personal life. Even though you didn't have serious plans, you didn't want to sit in the office for hours until he was finished. You doubted you would be any help anyways.

"Oh that must've slipped my mind, did you have any plans?” He asked, his eyes directed at the papers on his desk now.

"No, bu-"

"Good, then you can stay. You'll be paid for the extra time spent" he smiled, shifting through the papers.

"That's not the point, I don't care about the pay, it's the principle. And I doubt you even need me anyways" you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Y/n" he looked up at you, his eyes still not reaching yours, they were pointed towards your...chest.

"Sir?", the word barely escaping your lips.

"I need you...here" his eyes flickered up at yours above his glasses, before looking back at the documents. Well you couldn't say no to that. Now you were glad he barely looked you in the eye, he was very persuasive, or maybe it was the tone of his voice, almost pleading.

‘Or maybe it was because he was your boss and you needed to get a fucking grip’ you thought to yourself.

You cleared your throat, "yes of course, sorry sir. I'll be in my office if you need me" you turned to leave. Behind you, Nanami finally looked up again. His eyes roamed over your body, the way your dark gray pencil skirt road up your thighs as you walked, and how if he squinted he could see your red bra under your white button down.

Back in your office, you watched the clock again, it had been over an hour since everyone left. You sat at your desk playing with one of the fidget toys you stole from Ieiri.

Your fellow coworkers were probably off on dates, or getting wasted, which to be honest if you weren't at work you wouldn't be doing either of those things.

You had planned on binging romcoms and eating ice cream and not in a 'I'm so sad I don't have a partner' way but a 'why the hell not' way.

But you wouldn't be able to do any of that since you were cooped up in your office for god knows how long. All because Mr. Nanami "needed you" for whatever reason.

Maybe you could watch at least one movie before you went to bed, if this didn't take all night.

It had now been three hours since everyone went home, meaning it was eight o' fucking clock. And just as you thought, Mr. Nanami didn't need you because he hadn't ca-

*RINGGGG*

Speak of the devil and he shall appear or in your case, think of Mr. Nanami and he shall call. It was like he was reading your mind.

"Yes Mr. Nanami", you answered, a tad bit annoyed. You knew it was him, there were no other calls coming through at this time of night.

"Come to my office" he ordered, hanging up after.

You got up from your desk, straightening your skirt, it had wrinkled from sitting with your legs up in your chair. Slipping your heels back on, you walked in without knocking.

You were met with the same view as before, except you noticed he had loosened his tie a bit, part of his neck you'd never seen, peeked out at you. His muscles bulged out of his blue button down. 'Get a grip you're acting like a victorian man seeing a woman's ankle for the first time'.

"What is it that you needed me for, Mr. Nanami?" you broke the silence, since it seemed he was waiting on you to speak first.

"I need you to replace these copies with the ones you gave to Satoru this morning" he nudged the papers to the edge of his desk.

"Yes sir, anything else?" you asked, grabbing the copies.

"Come back to my office once you're done" he ran a hand through his golden hair before returning it back to his keyboard. You nodded, even though you didn't think he'd see it.

You left his office, walking down the hall to the cubicles Satoru worked in. He was one of the company’s best workers, and he didn't let you forget. His cockiness and care free attitude was a bit much at first, but you'd come to love bringing him papers, since it meant you had something to do.

Arriving at his desk, you knew it was his by the framed picture of him and a dark haired man on the beach. You’d asked about it once, but he shooed you off, seemed to be something he wasn't into talking about.

The papers from the morning sat on his desk, you replaced them with the new copies.

You stopped by your office to shred the old documents and headed back to Mr. Nanami, your heels clacking on the floor with each step.

Back at his office, you walked in to a chair sitting directly in front of his desk, which hadn't been there before.

"What's with the chair?" You questioned.

"It's for you, there's no point in coming back and forth when I need you." he explained, his eyes on the chair.

"Makes sense" no it didn't but you were just ready to go home. You closed the door behind you, a force of habit, and sat in the chair directly across from him.

You sat in silence as he typed away, his slender fingers swiftly moving across his keyboard. He cracked his knuckles, using his thumb, he'd been at this for hours.

"Mr. Nanami?" you spoke, a newfound confidence coming over you or maybe it was just because you were bored out of your mind.

"Yes?" he sighed, not in an agitated way, but an almost appreciative or satisfied one.

"Why am I the only one you asked to call you Mr. Nanami? All of the other workers just call you Kento, and you never seem to have a problem with it" you questioned, sitting up in the chair, both hands on your lap. You'd always wondered why, but never saw a time fit to ask.

"Because you're my assistant and...do you wanna know the truth?" his eyes were locked on your lap.

"Yes?" your response coming out more as a question. He sighed, before glancing up at your mouth.

"It's because I like the way it sounds on your lips" he averted his gaze back to his computer, starting his typing again.

"Oh..." How else were you supposed to respond to that, but the thing was you felt a hint of satisfaction from his confession, like you’d done something right. He was appreciative of something you’d done.

"Can you talk to me more, while I work" he asked, eyes on his screen.

"Uh sure...about what?" you crossed your legs, telling yourself it was to get comfortable, and not because your hot boss just admitted he liked the sound of his name on your lips. No it definitely wasn't because of that.

"You..." he responded, you hated talking about yourself, but it beat sitting in silence.

"Okay...well I'm 21, but you probably already knew that since you're the one who hired me" you let out a shacky laugh.

"Anyways, I graduated in 3 years instead of 4 because according to my friends 'I don't have a life’. I majored in business and the only reason I applied for this job was to get money until I figured out what I wanted to do." you looked up at him for some sort of reasurance, his lips were turned up in a slight smile.

"Go on" he promted you.

"Well the listing on indeed for this position was only like 30k a year, which is like not the best but as I said I just needed a bit of cash to keep me up post grad. But then it raised to 80k once I was hired, which was better than the entry level jobs I would've gotten with my Bachelors. To be honest at first I thought it was a mistake, but I asked about it and it was true, the position's salary miracuously raised over 2x's more than it was before. Which I still don't understand why I am being paid so much when I don't do mu-"

"Y/n" Mr. Nanami called, his eyes directly on you.

"Yes?" Your eyes met his, it looked like he was in pain almost.

"Come here" he commanded, his voice hoarse.

You were confused, but assumed he wanted to show you something on his computer, or maybe he had something he wanted you to take to Satoru's desk again.

Raising from the chair and straightening your skirt again, you walked over to his side of the desk.

"Sit on my desk" he whispered.

"I'm sorry what?" You must've heard him wrong.

"Sit...please" he pleaded, his hazel eyes staring over his glasses.

"Okay..." you sat on the wooden desk, beside his chair. You squeezed your legs together, attempting not to flash him your panties.

Nanami rose from his seat, walking over to you, caging you in. He stared at you for a second, your expression was beautiful, your eyebrows knitted together, looking up at him in confusion. But he shouldn't, he ripped his eyes away from yours, turning away.

"Sorry, what am I doing. I shouldn't h-"

Before he could finish his sentence, you grabbed him by the tie, locking your lips with his. He braced himself, both hands now on either side of you, against the desk.

He instantly kissed you back, a moan escaping his mouth. His lips were soft and plump against yours, as your tongues danced against one another. His hands moved from his desk to your hips, gripping them roughly.

You let go of his tie and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Your hand cradled his head, fingers intertwining with his hair.

Lifting his head, his eyes locked with yours, his gaze filled with need.

"Are you sure about this? I don't want you to do anything you don't want to" his tone was serious, but the only thing you could think about was how his lips glistened above you.

"I want this" you lifted a hand from his neck, wiping his bottom lip. His mouth closed around your thumb, sucking it before he released it with a trail of saliva.

His hands immediately went to your shirt, unbuttoning it before ripping it off of you.

You shivered at the cold air of the office. He admired his view of you, sitting on his desk in a red laced bra. He moved to take it off and release your breasts, in a frantic motion, he was growing impatient, and so were you.

Once the barrier was gone, he cupped them both, his thumbs rubbing against your sensitive buds, giving them a pinch before taking one in his mouth.

Mr. Nanami suckled on one of your breasts while he fondled the other. "Mmm" he moaned against your skin, his tongue swirling around your areola.

Your hand moved back to his hair, pushing him against chest. "Fuck" you sighed, as he bit down onto your nipple, before planting a kiss on it to ease the pain.

He lifted himself from your breasts, pulling you to the edge of the desk. Attaching his hands to your skirt, he pushed it down your legs, revealing your matching red panties under your mesh stockings.

Nanami's hands dove down your panties, reveling in how wet you were for him. He always knew you felt the same way as he had for you.

From the second he locked eyes on you, he fantasized about this moment.

"So wet for me" he smirked down at you.

Two fingers slipped inside you with no warning.

"Mmm fuck" you cried out, your hands held his shoulders for support.

His fingers pumped into you at an agonizingly slow pace. His thumb moved up to your clit, pressing against it in a circular motion.

Your hips rocked against his hand, aching for more.

"Yes, that's good. Ride my fingers" he ordered, his voice soft.

"Mmm" you moaned, bucking your hips, his fingers hitting your sweet spot.

His pace sped up, eyes never leaving you, glasses now crooked on his face.

You could feel your climax building, and he noticed too. His other hand rose to your hips, pushing you even closer to him.

Your boss stood between your legs as his fingers pumped inside you.

"C’mon cum for me" his forehead connected with yours, watching you as you finished on his fingers. Your hips jerked from the overstimulation, as he continued to pump you through your orgasm.

You had to grab his wrist to stop him, he shook his head coming out of his haze, removing his fingers from you.

Your hands grabbed his tie, pulling it over his head, already loose from earlier.

You unbuttoned his shirt, ripping it off his shoulders. His chiseld body glistened with sweat under the office light. Your hands roamed over his chest, connecting with his nipples, he let out a shacky sigh.

"Get up and turn around" he ordered you.

You hopped down from the desk, kicking off your heels, and did as he ordered. Once your back was to him, he placed his hands on your bare shoulders. He slowly pushed you down, until your breasts were flush against the cold wood of his desk.

Nanami moved his hands down your spine, until they attached with your hips. He pressed his clothed length against your cunt.

Letting out another satisfied sigh, Mr. Nanami kneaded your ass with both of his hands, as his dick rubbed against your back side. The contact sending pleasure to your core, your pussy ached for another release.

You moved your hands back to touch his length, but he immediately swatted it away.

"Ah ah ah, you're being impatient" he cooed, grabbing his tie, you had placed on the desk. He took both of your hands behind your back, and tied them together.

"There, much better" you could feel him step away, no longer feeling the warmth of his body against you.

You strained your neck, attempting to see what he was doing, his pants along with his underwear dropped to the floor. He was long and achingly hard, like he had been that way all day.

He walked back to you, his hands attaching to your ass again, giving it a soft smack.

"I‘ll pay for a new pair" he reassured.

"Wh-" before you could question him. He had ripped your stockings, revealing your damp panties. His fingers hooked around the fabric, moving it to the side.

Nanami lined his length with your entrance.

"You ready" he asked, looking down at you.

"Yes" you pleaded, over your shoulder.

"Yes, what?" His voice stern.

"Yes, sir"

He slipped himself inside, a scream escaped your lips, as his length stretched your hole. His strokes started off slow, just as he had when fingering you. It was like he wanted to savor the moment forever.

Nanami pulled out agonizingly slow, just to harshly pound back into you, the desk rattled with each contact.

"Fuck, do you know how much I've thought about this. Fucking your little cunt until you came" he sighed.

"Ever since you walked into this office, I knew I'd have you eventually...mmh" he let out a loud groan, picking up his pace.

He grabbed your tied hands, pulling you up a bit. Your back arched, pushing you further against him. His tip brushed against your sweet spot, over, and over. You could have sworn he was growing even harder inside you.

Another groan escaped him, his large hand slapped your ass before giving it a tight squeeze.

"Mmm, baby you're so perfect, just like I knew you'd be. You're so obedient, such a good girl" he cooed, bringing you up against him, so that your back...and arms were flush against his chest. His arm wrapped around your midsection to hold you up. The position was slightly uncomfortable but you could care less.

With each praise your pussy begged for more, squeezing your walls around him. He continued his relentless pursuit on your cunt.

The sounds of him pounding into you echoed through out the office, maybe even the entire floor. Nanami's tip bruised your insides, edging your release.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum again" you cried out. He increased his pace even more.

"Cum for me baby" he whispered down in your ear and your body did just that, feeling yourself release around him. "That's my girl, doing so good for me"

Your legs trembled, as Mr. Nanami continued pounding his length into you. Tears streamed down your face from the overstimulation. 

"Mmh, I wanna look in your eyes as I come" he groaned, pulling out of you, untying your hands.

"Lay down on the desk" he ordered and you followed, sitting down on the desk before laying on your back.

Mascara ran down your face, even then you looked so beautiful, maybe even better, Nanami thought.

"Good girl" he praised, before spreading your legs and pushing himself inside you once again. He bent his body down, holding himself up with his hands on either side of you, trusting into your overstimulated cunt.

His hazel eyes, never left yours. You wrapped your legs around him, pushing him deeper inside you. Your hands now free, moved up to cup his face, pulling him into a kiss. It was filled with passion, lust, and longing.

You felt like this was something you'd needed all along, your body craved more. You began bucking your hips up against him, following his pace. Pleasure built up in your core again, you moaned into his mouth. He pulled away, biting your bottom lip, before releasing it, his glasses crooked on his face.

"You're a little freak" he teased, growing harder by your need for a third orgasm, and he was gonna give it to you. Nanami's pace grew even faster, your hips unable to keep up.

He gazed down at you, your eyebrows knitted together just as they had when you were confused. He could tell you were almost there, and so was he.

Nanami sat up, grabbing your hips with both of his hands, his eyes never leaving yours. A third climax washed over you, your legs limply dropped from his waist.

His strokes became sporadic, he wrapped his arms around your thighs, slamming into you one more time, before he came. His cum painted your walls, filling your cunt. You squeezed yourself around his length as much as you could, milking every drop from him, eyes locked on his.

"One more round?" he asked, you let out a dry chuckle under him, but he wasn't joking.

✎ this did nawt come out as good as i wanted, but i really wanted to give you guys something for vday. sorry for any typos i will fix any mistakes when i get the time <3

-ciara💻

[aerynwrites]

Cards and Flowers

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

A/N: you all voted for Simon for the Valentines Day fic so I;m here to deliver! Hope you all enjoy this soft Simon goodness. Word Count: 2.8k Warnings: emotional hurt/comfort, simon being a big softie (probably OOC lol), angst, fluff, so much fluff.

*apologies for any spelling errors this was quickly proofread*

The note showed up a few days before Valentine's Day, slid beneath the door of your room in a simple red envelope. You were confused at first, but curious enough to pick it up the moment you saw it and carefully open the small envelope to pull out the card inside. 

Will you be my Valentine? 

Brevard’s, Friday at 6 pm. 

- Your Secret Admirer

Immediately your skepticism reared its ugly head. You’ve never been asked out for Valentine's day, never been asked out period. What if this is some sick joke?

But then, all the memories of the little things that have been happening over the past week come to the forefront of your mind. The simple bouquet of daisies in the common room with your name on them. The singular candy bar with a sweet note resting on front of your door. a simple take out meal addressed to you one night when you were up late doing reports. 

Maybe…maybe it was real. 

Maybe, finally, you had piqued someone’s interest enough for them to go for it.

And, unbidden, the faint image of an all too familiar skull balaclava popped into your mind. 

You smile, tucking the note away in your pocket before heading to the rec room.

Maybe valentines day won’t suck so much this year after all. 

——

Ghost watches as you bounce into the commons area, eyes bright and an unusual pep in your step as you approach where he, Soap and Gaz sit around a small table playing cards. Your changed mood doesn’t go unnoticed by the other men either apparently, Soap looking up from the game to glance at you. 

“What’s got you in such a good mood, lass?” He asks, drawing a card. 

You smile brightly, and Ghost doesn’t miss the way your eyes dart to him as a flush creeps up your neck. 

“Guess who has a secret admirer,” you say excitedly, pulling out the card and placing it on the table. 

Gaz is the first to grab the card, brows rising as he reads it. “Brevard’s?” He asks, impressed, “That’s a fancy place, the guy must be well smitten to go in on a place like that.”

You nod, clearly thinking the same thing. “So I take it, you’re not my admirer then?” You ask, not all that seriously. 

Gaz smiles, shaking his head, “Brevards’ above my pay grade,” he claps you on the shoulder as you move to take a seat at the table, “you deserve the best though. Glad someone finally caught on.”

“Garrick’s right, lass,” Soap chimes in, reaching over to take the card, “Whoever this is, must be heelster-gowdie for ya…” he trails off for a moment. “Any idea who it is?”

Ghost watches, always watching - observing. It’s why he catches the way you look at him again before dropping your gaze back down to the card as you shake your head. 

“No, not yet, anyways. Guess we’ll find out Friday, huh?”

It’s also why he doesn’t miss the amused over the shoulder glances a group of officers send their table, almost silent chuckles meeting his ears. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you’re up almost as fast as you got here when you check the notification. You mumble something about Price needing reports you hadn’t finished before rushing off, Gaz and Soap wolf whistling after you - earning them a loud laugh from you. 

They return to their game, but don’t get far before Soap pipes up. 

“So, finally decided to make your move L.t.?” he asks, a knowing smirk on his lips. 

Ghost shakes his head, readjusting in his seat. “Wasn’t me.”

Both his sergeants look confused at his revelation, and Ghost internally curses himself for being so apparently obvious with his feelings towards you. Obvious to everyone except you it seems. 

He sees Gaz preparing another question, a rebuttal, probably some snarky comment - so he’s up and out of his seat before he can speak, muttering something about getting more tea. 

Mug in hand he approaches the small kitchen area, now well in earshot of the group of officers from earlier - all of them still sniggering about something. 

“Ah, I don’t know, Jennings - Don’t you think it’s kind of cruel-”

The man is cut off by Jennings, as Ghost approaches turning the electric kettle back on. 

“It’s just a little joke, Davies, quit being a buzz kill-”

Ghost watches from his peripheral as Davis shifts uncomfortably. 

“I just think it’s a little much. I mean - standing her up, really? on valentines day no less-”

The pieces click into place for Ghost in an instant, and red fills his vision. Jennings set you up. Plied you with fake gifts and cards all in order to play some cruel joke on you - the final act leaving you sitting at a restaurant by yourself on valentines day. 

He grips the handle of the kettle so tight, he hears the plastic creak beneath his fingers. His initial reaction is to toss the now scalding water right at the other officers face or at the very least step in and tell him what a terrible fucking mistake it would be to mess with someone on his team. 

But he stops himself as an idea curtails his rage. It’s a terrible idea - a selfish, horrible, will probably blow up in his face, kind of idea. But it takes root before he can stop it, and almost immediately he’s stalking from the commons area - Brevard's number dialed into his phone and kettle and card game long forgotten. 

——

Friday - Valentine’s Day - came quicker than Ghost expected. And even though he had done everything he could to prepare, he couldn’t snuff out the nerves boiling his blood. He’d called the restaurant the day you got the card to make a reservation - not too shocked to hear that they didn’t have anything available. But he wasn’t taking no for an answer, and after having a rather vague conversation with Price that left the captain more confused than anything - he was able to have some strings pulled. And now, there was a reservation for two under your name at a restaurant Ghost probably would never have stepped foot in otherwise. 

He stands outside the restaurant now, dressed in his nicest civvies, a simple bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand, paper crinkling in his sweat damp palms. You got here near half an hour ago, he can see you sitting at the window side table for two, nervously glancing around, checking your phone as the minutes pass by. 

He’s giving Jennings the benefit of the doubt, he tells himself, maybe he started to feel bad and would actually show up. 

But Ghost knows better. He knows Jennings is probably out wining and dining some other poor woman, completely unbothered that you sit at a table alone, the waiter’s pitying gaze getting worse and worse each time they come by to check on you. 

He finally shoves past his own insecurities, his own nerves when he sees you wipe at your eyes and start to fumble with your purse. He’s stepping through the restaurant doors, muttering to the hostess that he’s meeting someone and knows where to go. He just barely makes it to your table before you get up, tears bubbling up in your eyes as they land on him. 

He’s sure he’s a sight - a hulking man you’re so used to seeing in tactical gear and a skull mask - now dressed in dress pants and a plain black button down, sleeves rolled up, black surgical mask replacing the usual balaclava. Ghost isn’t even ashamed to admit he tried to style his hair, Soap helping him when he failed miserably the first time. 

You stare at him for a moment, eyes wide and mouth agape as you take in your Lieutenant standing before you with…flowers in his hand?

“Sorry ‘m late,” he says, pushing the flowers towards you, “took longer at the florist than expected.”

The lie is easy, just another one to add onto the calamity that is this evening. But when he sees the way your eyes fall down to the bundle - so much simpler than the extravagant roses typical of the holiday - your eyes light up, and a smile replaces the tearful frown that was present just moments ago. And Ghost knows he could give less of a fuck about little white lie. 

He slides into the empty seat at the table, the dainty wooden chair groaning under the bulk of him, while he watches you try to take stock of the situation. Only after staring at the flowers for an unusually long time do you finally turn to sit back in your chair, eyes flitting up to meet his as you set the bouquet to the side. 

“You’re...You’re the one who gave me the card?” You ask, voice soft. 

And god…if he could put that bashful look on your face everyday, he would. 

He responds with a soft hum, not quite a confirmation, but not quite a denial either. You take it as an affirmative, splaying manicured fingers out over the menu as the tension leaves your shoulders. 

“I…” you trail off, eyes falling down to the menu as you pick at the edges of it with your nails. “I was starting to think I’d been stood up. Some cruel joke or something -”

Ghost reaches out across the white table cloth, taking your hand in his as easy as breathing. 

“No joke,” he says, clearing his throat. “Not from me.”

You smile at him then, ducking your head down to hide your nervousness. 

“I was…” you bite your lip, and Ghost squeezes your hand to encourage you to continue. “I was hoping it was you, Ghost,” you finally whisper, words almost lost to the din of the restaurant. 

But Ghost hears them, and they spark a warmth in his chest he hasn’t felt in decades. A warmth that has him clutching your hand tighter in his own, thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Simon,” he says in return, reaching up to tug at the elastic around his ears, setting his mask aside. “No need for callsigns here, love.”

You smile again, this time the small action staying put on your lips instead of slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

“Okay, Simon,” you say, picking up the menu, “What’s good here?”

Simon can’t stop the chuckle from slipping past his lips, picking up his own menu in turn. “Hell if I know,” he grunts, “Never been to a place this fancy.”

You laugh then, and it’s in that moment that Simon realizes he never wants to let you go. 

——

You and Simon exit out into the cool evening air, a slight breeze nipping at your cheeks as you tug your coat on with Simon's help. 

Dinner went well - amazing - actually. You thought for sure you’d been taken for a fool when you were sitting in that restaurant alone, half an hour past the supposed meeting time. But then the one man you were hoping would show up, finally did. Blond hair styled just so, black button up neatly pressed, and a subtle tinge of red on his cheeks that you never expected to see from your unflappable Lieutenant. 

You were nervous at first, of course you were, but it dissipated quickly as dinner went on. The waiter came over, relief on his face at the sight of your date finally showing, and you almost laughed at how happy he looked for you. Wine was served shortly - bourbon for Simon, naturally - with dinner courses shortly after that. 

And Simon didn’t deny you a thing - he saw the way you wavered between ordering a steak and a salad, telling the waiter to bring both. Was in tune with the way you seemed to want dessert but hesitated at the prices. You both got what you wanted, you with a decadent chocolate mousse and Simon a simple piece of cheesecake drizzled with strawberry glaze. 

“That’s all?” You’d asked, slightly teasing.

Simon smiled, fork sliding into the dessert like a knife through butter. “I’m a simple man, love.”

You smiled then, heart fuzzy with warmth as you take in the man before you. 

“I highly doubt that, Simon Riley.”

You adjusted the bouquet in your hands, moving to cradle it in the crook of your elbow as Simon takes your free hand in his own - an action done so naturally you don’t even think to question it. But you do relish in it - in the warmth of his rough hand in yours, palm calloused with years of military work. You can’t help but lean into him as you both walk down the sidewalk towards the carpark, your eyes drifting to the bundle of flowers in your arms. 

You only find the courage to speak when you reach your destination, Simon stopping when you both reach your car. The words linger on your tongue, afraid to voice your suspicions and ruin the one thing you’ve longed after for the past year. 

You turn, resting back against the driver’s side door as you look up at Simon, neither of you saying anything for a long comfortable moment. You squeeze his hand, tugging him closer, smiling wryly as he obeys the silent request instantly. 

“You didn’t give me the card…did you, Simon?” You finally ask, voice soft, unable to keep the disappointment from your words. 

The silence that follows is answer enough, but Simon was never one to leave things unsaid. Not between you. 

“No. I didn’t.”

Three simple words. 

That’s all it took to make your heart sink to the floor, chest aching so fiercely it makes your eyes sting. 

“So...” You sniffle, “You just -”

Did it out of pity? did it to make me feel better about being stood up on valentines date? Couldn’t let poor little me be looked over again-

“Hey.”

A hand cups your cheek, rough palms sliding against soft skin as Simon’s fingers move to tangle gently in your hair, tilting your head up to look at him once more. 

“Don’t do that,” he says softly, brown eyes swimming in an emotion you’ve never quite seen from him before. “I…” he pauses, fingers twitching against your scalp as he struggles to find the words. 

And he must not find them - or at the very least decides they won’t convey what he really feels. Because, before you can react his free hand reaches up, tearing the medical mask from his face before he’s leaning in and claiming your lips with his own. 

You’d imagined kissing Simon more than you’d care to admit, but - as usual - he surprises you. It’s both gentle and all consuming. His lips moving against yours like he needs you to breathe. He releases your hand in order to take your face in both of his hands, pulling you towards him at the same time he leans forward to press into you, his warmth seeping in through your coat a stark contrast to the chill against your back from the car. 

You only pull away when his tongue presses against the seam of your lips, afraid that if you give in you’ll never be able to let go, and right now there’s still so many questions despite most of them being answered by that kiss. 

Simon doesn’t press, although he does chase you slightly when you pull away, instead shifting course to press a featherlight kiss to the corner of your lips. 

“How did you know?” He asks, breath warm against your cheek. 

“The card,” you admit gently, looking up into his eyes, “it wasn’t your hand writing.”

You continue when he doesn’t speak. “And the flowers. I…I hate daisies. I remember telling you that on a mission once. And what my actual favorite flowers were instead,” you rustle the bouquet in your arms. “You remembered.”

Your words are like a punch to the gut, stealing the very breath from his lungs at the knowledge that you know him on a level deep enough to remember his handwriting. To know that he’s the type of person to remember something as trivial as your favorite flowers. 

“I didn’t send the card,” he confirms again, pulling away just enough so his lips are brushing yours once more. “But I’m glad that fucker did,” he practically growls, “Gave me the push to finally take what I’ve wanted.”

And then he’s kissing you again, this one just slightly hungrier than the last, both of you devouring the other, finally - finally - taking the plunge you both were too terrified to take before tonight. 

And as Simon pulls you closer to him, one hand slipping beneath your coat to get just that much closer…You can’t help but be thankful for that damned card. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love.” Simon murmurs against your lips. 

You smile. 

“Happy Valentine’s day, Simon.”

[curiousorigins]

This is the "Freedom Fries" all over again only more racist.

I heard maybe 3 people actually use it in real life. (and only 1 time a piece.) Yet for a minute there that would be all that the news would talk about. I can't speak as to what/when/who prompted that thing. I do know it was in a Post 9-11 United States. They were also trying to hype the citizens about the War in Iraq/Afghanistan as if we were actually fighting for 'freedom' instead of oil and other stuff.

(And yeah, the U.S. caused literally all of those conditions that we had to 'save' people from. From the first time we played favorites and funded terrorism there and destabilized people. Funny how often we create the terrible conditions and then step in as the 'hero'. Of course it's only a hero on our airways because everyone else in the world aren't delusional.)

I know that people were pushing the 'Freedom Fries" as a weird support the military and all that. We were aggressively nationalist for a minute there. We started pledging the 'pledge of allegiance' in schools at least 1x/week (if not a day) and that was probably something legislated. And suddenly people were freaking out about flag burning and critiquing the U.S. when they were previously people who literally helped burn it last independence day. It was a weird uncomfortable climate for sure. For just a touch of the insanity that was going around, please watch any show from like 2003-2007. There will be a plot line that deals with terrorists or the war in Iraq or injured soldiers or PTSD related to soldiers, or unfortunately refugees from war-torn countries facing racism. It literally doesn't matter the genre, the network or anything other than U.S. made. You will be able to find it, easily. Most U.S. Citizens daily life wasn't about those wars, those conflicts we supported. But our TV sure as hell was. I do think that there was some major funding happening there.

But this was also a time where people were not getting the news from everywhere and we had journalists, if not outright suppressing school shootings (because it was believed that airing them... led to more shootings and it's kind of hard not to agree in the modern era.) then minimizing air time.

And just like the Vietnam War was a huge polarizing cultural change, because citizens were witnessing it semi-regularly, for the first time without having gone to war. (It was aired nightly on the news in those days.). We watched 2 buildings go, kind of in slow motion, as well as another plane hijacking... and no answers for why, for months.

Then of course, we had politicians voting to go to war. And watching people die and get tortured live... just kind of became background noise. As messed up as that is.

It wasn't until that brave soldier, self-immolated to protest the U.S. actions or lack thereof in Gaza, that I realized how many times I saw that same thing during the War in Iraq.

I was young enough... that it was just something that was happening. I remember some things from before... but not enough. And so watching these creepy American Soldiers do horribly dehumanizing things to people. (That was leaked again by a brave veteran who was disgusted by it. And he ended up dead very shortly after.)

They also didn't go into the self-immolation except to say that it was a protest about the war in Iraq. Just thinking back it disturbs me how much people have to do to get the message out about anything that may effect rich people's bottom lines.

Don't worry though, that's how they justified the Patriot Act which has been hardly revised since it passed and allows them to hold ANYONE for an extended amount of time, without trial, for incredibly poorly described.

So yeah, shut down this 'Gulf of America' nonsense. But know to keep an ear out for what this talk is distracting you from. It's a joke. Until it isn't.

if someone tries to correct you by saying its "the Gulf of America" now, tell them you don't let the government control your language

[bbybhr]

"A fighter" sevika x fem reader angst

Summary: If there was a soul mate for everyone, sevika would think "and was sure" there's none for her. people,they are connected by their scars their pain and how they could heal one another. People see the broken pieces and offer what they have in exchange for what they want and sevika had nothing to give and plenty to get. she was so broken that the scars on the surface, were the surface. and one should reach out too deep to find a sign of her and only than to try healing her. and sevika wouldn't be that cruel to anybody. that was until you came along and sevika found herself for the very first time...wishing for something selfish...something entirely hers

Sevika is a fighter. not that she likes it or she gets off on it but she is one simply because there's the need for it. she needs to be one, silco needs her to be one, the nation of zaun and all of the people of undercity, needs her to be one...so she became one...and to hold that title she is required to be tough, to man up and forget her weakness...to avoid weaknesses and lately you're becoming one.

she needs to keep her distance from you and she was telling herself that from the day she met you. But somewhere along this mission she failed. somewhere between the beautiful smile you gave her everytime you saw her and the sweet little voice of yours telling her "good morning sev" every morning. Somewhere in the way your beautiful eyes shine everytime she talks to you and somewhere when she felt that tingling feeling inside of her heart after seeing you.

And frankly she thought she could do it. She thought whenever she absolutely had to, she can just cut you off for the greater good. That's what being in the top of the chain of power requires, so she would do it. I mean how hard could it be, she could just forget about all of that there was and get on with her life, with the plan big enough to save thousands of lives... at least she tells herself that before thinking of you and drifting off to sleep.

Why she doesn't do it now?she just simply wants another taste...everytime she tells herself that. she only need one more good morning, one more worried look whenever she shows up beaten, one more time of having you clinging by her side when she's fixing her arm, one more time seeing you looking at her with awe when she wins in card games.

And every time she repeated that sentence that "just one more time and I'm done" it's a fucking lie. she's becoming addicted to you and everyone can see it except herself.

Everyone knows they're not to mess with you and it's showing on their attitude towards you. creep wouldn't dare to look at you in a bad way and the meanest people who won't give a damn about anything bite their tongue before anything bad about you leave their lips because they know better to mess with sevika and getting their shit rearranged.

And that was what encouraged you to take the first step and ask her to have a dinner with you at your place. Because although sevika seemed interested enough for someone like her more than enough you knew she wouldn't take the first step or at least she wouldn't use her words for it, so you would get stuck in between a lot of nothings. So you asked her...

And when you did so your heart was in your throat, you could feel the coldness and numbness creeping up your fingers and toes as you played with the hem of your clothing. daring to only take one breath per second.

Sevika on the other hand was stunned. what did she do to make it to this second, standing infront of you, noticing how you were more dolled up compere to the other times and how you were trying to distract yourself from her gaze and avoiding it with all your might and even though it was just a few seconds, she felt like she's missing it...she's missing how your pupils dilated at the sight of her and how your eyes would tremble everytime it was forced to hold her gaze more than mere seconds.

"Sure why not"

She was fucked...not because she said yes...because she didn't even thought of saying no and it would only become harder and harder with every and each passing day. knowing you was both a blessing and a curse because the more she got to know about you she fell more onto the depth of loving you more.

Everytime she got to wrap her hands around you when you were sleep, easily pulling you in her embrace. breathing at the nape of your neck welcoming the most beautiful dreams that she never had she would fell lower.

When she would wake up seeing your messy hair tickling on her neck and chest while sun shining on them made them a little bit lighter she would fell lower and lower.

When she kissed that very kissable lips of yours taking in your lipstick from them and painting them with a flushed redder look that she adored so much she would fell lower and lower and lower.

And when she would make your face blushed make your body get cover in a thin sheet of sweat, quivering underneath her with sweet sweet moan skipping you lips, calling her oh so beautifully she would fell lower and lower and lower to the bottom of that pit.

And than she hit the ground.

When silco warned her about how she was growing too clumsy too much eager to get back home before getting the job done. how she's losing the sense of survival, how she's failing as a fighter a warrior.

And it hit her, the bottom of that pit the end of the days she was living for herself...

She came home that night,trashed, wasted. stumbling on her feet, eyes seeing two for one and stomach burning with dread and alcohol, struggling so long to put the keys in the keyhole that you heard and opened it at last...when she thought of that she was glad that it was you that came to the door that night opening the door her for the last time...she had plenty of time to open that door by herself to an once again empty house.

"Sevika... are you okay? what happened?"

You called her and her ears despite her drunken mind picked up on the sound, devouring everything you gave, every call you create. placing them in the back of her mind, safe from the chaos.

"Get out"

She rasped out as she stepped in, voice hoarse from all the unnecessary yelling and cussing and drinking. she quickly get done with that, ripping of the bandage like she always does. she didn't spare you a look as she made her way to the kitchen grabbing another bottle.

"What do you mean?"

You were shocked to say the least not knowing it's just drunk talking or she's fucking serious right now you. frown in shock a rare sight.

"Do I have to repeat it now"

She said with a calmness in her tone that was far away from the mess unfolding within her. she slammed the bottle down on the counter, turning to look at you with her gray eyes, drowned in emotions so much you couldn't even see anything in them.

"Get out of my life"

She continued, taking an step forward.

"Get all of your bubbly shit all the hope you're trying to put on me all your sickening love and get the fuck out"

You looked up, wide eye feeling like someone dumped hot boiling fucking water all over you your lips moved without any sound coming from it.

"What...what do you mean...where is it coming from...did I do something?I swear to god I didn't"

You sound...desperate voice shaking and body trembling. you could feel the coldness creeping up to your fingers you could feel your heartbeat in your throat but you weren't playing with the hem of your clothes anymore, only thing playing was time with the both of you.

"Stop it"

She cut your voice

"I'm tired of it...I'm tired of you taking my life trying to fix things that I built under pressures that you have no fucking clue about...get out I'm done playing this game"

You didn't know how you left how you put everything you could in a bag sobbing as you close the door fat tears coming down your cheeks sevika didn't know how she could bare the sound of your cries that night and you didn't know how you're going to live from now on...and so did sevika.

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 10

˗ˏˋ slow dancing ˎˊ˗

"Late night melodies have a way of slipping past your defenses. And maybe that's why he chose 2AM to show you a side of him you weren't supposed to see."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 4.5k

content: electric guitar discussions, griffin being a crackhead like his dad, tiny moments, late night melodies, comfortable silence

✧ author's note ✧

FIRST OF ALL! I CREATED A PLAYLIST OF SONGS FMU!JUNGKOOK PLAYS ON HIS ELECTRIC GUITAR to make him feel more human and lived in. Go check it out! You can play it whenever he’s playing the guitar.

Hello everyone! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ Currently writing this from the past since I'm scheduled to be stuffing my face with gyros in Greece right now. Which, honestly? Living my best tourist life with my partner. (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

I know I said chapter 10 might be delayed because of the trip BUT Wednesday night hit different and suddenly my brain went feral. You know how it is - either write nothing for weeks or channel an entire novel in one sitting. There is no in-between. (；一_一)

Here's the thing about this chapter though - I'm actually proud of it? Which never happens, so cherish this moment. It's finally time to plant some seeds (about time, right?). ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

Listen, I know I'm absolutely unhinged about slow burn. Like, genuinely concerning levels of commitment to dragging out emotional development. I kept second-guessing if 50k words in was too early for their first Moment™, but you know what? They deserve this tiny crumb of softness. (`･ω･´)

Before you get too excited - remember who's writing this. Your resident slow burn demon. What I consider a huge development, you'll probably read and go "... that's it?" (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ But I promise, if you pay attention to the vibes, there's something special here.

Quick question! I've sprinkled about three of Jungkook's trauma events throughout the story so far. Any theories? Some of you perceptive souls (looking at you, Koopsy) have probably figured them out, but I'm curious what everyone else thinks! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

See you next weekend! Mwah!

P.S. Written at 5AM running on spite and caffeine. If you spot typos, no you didn't. (￣▽￣*)ゞ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

I am sorry but listening to THIS on the second part is MANDATORY. It’s the song Jungkook’s playing. So, you better listen to it or I’ll get mad and stop breathing and there will be no more fuck me up for you bitches. 😤😤😤

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

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Your hair's a fucking mess and it's all his fault.

You tug at your oversized pajama shirt as you emerge from your room, trying to look less... well. Less like you just had your roommate's tongue down your throat.

The living room's exactly as you left it, except now Jungkook's manspreading in the armchair like he owns it, arguing with Yeji about—wait, what?

"—can't seriously think the Stratocaster is better for metal," he's saying, gesturing with those stupidly nice hands of his. "The humbucker pickups alone—"

"The clarity though?" Yeji cuts in, looking personally offended. You've seen that look before—usually right before she launches into a thirty-minute rant about music theory. "You get way better note definition with single coils, especially for complex riffs—"

"Yeah, if you want it to sound like a tin can—"

"Excuse me?" 

God. Two guitar nerds in one room. This is literally your worst nightmare.

Irya's sitting between them on the couch looking thoroughly entertained, phone in hand. "Jimin!" she calls out suddenly. "Check the one I just sent you!"

Jimin glances up from his own phone, that soft smile playing on his lips. He's claimed the other end of the couch, as far from the guitar debate as possible. Smart man.

The doorbell rings, and before you can even think about moving, Jungkook launches himself out of the armchair like an overcaffeinated jackrabbit.

"I got it!" He's already halfway to the door, and you roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck.

"Whatever." You grab one of the bean bags from near the big window, dragging it to the other side of the coffee table. As far from the armchair as possible, because you know exactly where he's going to sit when he gets back.

"Just saying," Yeji continues like the pizza interruption never happened, "if you're going to shit-talk Fender, at least have a decent argument."

"Oh, I've got arguments." You can hear Jungkook fumbling with his wallet at the door. "Want me to grab my guitar? I can demonstrate—"

"Please, god, no," you mutter, dropping onto the bean bag. The last thing you need is an impromptu concert from either of them.

"Pizzaaaa," he announces, kicking the door shut behind him. He's somehow managing to balance four boxes, and you definitely don't notice the way his arms flex under the weight. "Who's hungry?"

You end up sharing your calabrese with Jimin because he's literally the only person in this room with taste. Plus, watching him take small, careful bites makes you feel better about the way you just inhaled your first slice like some kind of starved animal.

Everyone else claimed their own pizza—Yeji's practically mainlining her extra spicy diavola, Irya's defending her hawaiian from Yeji's judgmental looks, and Jungkook...

God. Jungkook.

He's sprawled in that armchair like it's a throne, one leg thrown over the armrest, decimating his meat lovers' like he's getting paid for it. And it's annoying. Everything about him is annoying. The way he tears into the crust with those stupidly white teeth. The way his throat works when he swallows. The little appreciative sounds he makes that are way too similar to—nope.

Not going there.

"Want some?" He catches you staring and holds out a slice, cheese stretching obscenely. "Since you keep looking over here."

"I'm not—" You break off as a string of cheese snaps. "I was judging your eating habits."

"Uh-huh." He takes another bite, and you hate that you notice the way his lips curve. "Sure, phoenix."

"Fuck off."

"Make me."

Yeji makes a gagging sound. "Do you two ever stop?"

No. You don't. That's the problem. Whether it's fighting or fucking or whatever the hell happened in your room twenty minutes ago, you just... don't stop. Can't stop. Won't stop.

And maybe that should worry you more than it does.

"Pass me a napkin?" Jimin asks quietly, and you grab one gratefully. Away from thoughts of Jungkook's mouth and what it was doing to you earlier and—focus. Pizza. Friends. Normal things that don't involve your roommate's tongue.

Except he's right there, existing in your peripheral vision like some kind of extremely annoying sun. Being all... present. With his hair still messed up from your hands and that mark on his neck that your friends definitely haven't noticed but you know is there and—

"Phoenix." His voice cuts through your spiral. "You're staring again."

"I'm plotting your murder."

He grins, slow and knowing. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

He's still chewing. Like, unnecessarily loud? Who taught this man table manners, a pack of wolves? 

You watch him demolish another slice with the same energy your mom attacks Facebook conspiracy theories. It's giving feral raccoon energy. No, worse—it's giving mukbang YouTuber who's about to get canceled for something weird. The way he's manspreading in that chair like he's about to start a podcast about cryptocurrency—

And then you see it. Griffin, the little menace, has somehow gotten onto the coffee table (again) and he's sniffing at—fuck, is that garlic bread?

You're out of the bean bag before you can think, nearly falling on your face in your haste. "Griffin, no—"

But Jungkook's already moving too, pizza forgotten, practically launching himself out of the chair. "G, don't—"

You snatch Griffin away from the bread just as Jungkook reaches for him, and for a second you're both frozen there—you with an armful of disgruntled cat, him with his hands outstretched and something raw and panicked in his eyes that makes your chest tight.

"He can't have garlic," you explain, which is stupid because obviously Jungkook knows this, it's his cat. "It's toxic for—"

"Yeah." His voice is rough. He swallows, hands falling to his sides. "Yeah, I know."

The silence stretches for a beat too long. 

Something's off about his reaction—it's just bread, right? 

But there's tension in his shoulders, a tightness around his eyes that wasn't there before.

"He's got this thing about human food," he says finally, aiming for casual but missing by a mile. His laugh sounds hollow. "Always goes for the stuff that'll fuck him up."

You raise an eyebrow, absently scratching under Griffin's chin. "What, like a death wish?"

"More like bad judgment." He reaches for Griffin, and you notice his hands aren't quite steady. "Likes the wrong stuff. Just like his dad. Don't you, buddy?"

Griffin just purrs, completely unbothered by all the drama he just caused. Jungkook checks him over anyway, like he might have somehow eaten the entire loaf in the two seconds you weren't looking.

"Devil cat," you mutter, but you find yourself reaching out to scratch Griffin's ears anyway. "Always trying to unalive himself with human food."

Jungkook's quiet for a moment, just watching you pet Griffin. 

Then, so soft you almost miss it: "Thanks."

You blink. "For what?"

"For—" He cuts himself off, nonchalance sliding back into place. "For not letting him add 'bread thief' to his criminal record."

But there's something in his voice, in the way his fingers keep checking Griffin like he needs to make sure he's still there—

"Yo," Yeji cuts in, "can someone please explain to my girlfriend why pineapple on pizza is a crime against humanity?"

"It's not a crime," Irya's saying, waving her slice of hawaiian like a weapon. "It's culinary innovation."

"It's fruit on pizza." Yeji looks personally wounded. "That's like putting ketchup in coffee."

"Don't give him ideas," you mutter, watching Jungkook from the corner of your eye. He's settled back in the armchair with Griffin, but something's... off. The casual sprawl looks forced now, mechanical. His phone's out, thumb scrolling without really seeing.

Weird. 

"Some people actually do that," Jimin offers quietly. "The ketchup thing."

"Those people need therapy." Yeji steals a piece of pineapple off Irya's slice, examining it like it's evidence in a crime scene. "Like, immediately."

You should probably join in. Make some quip about food crimes or Yeji's weird vendetta against fruit. But you keep getting distracted by the way Jungkook's shoulders are still tight, how his other hand hasn't stopped checking Griffin. Like he needs to make sure he's still there.

Doesn't make sense. He was fine ten minutes ago, being all loud and annoying about guitars. What changed?

"Speaking of crimes against humanity—" Irya starts.

"We are not discussing the mint chocolate incident again."

"It was one time!"

Griffin shifts in Jungkook's lap, and you catch the slight flinch in his fingers. The way his eyes snap to check what the cat's doing. It's so different from his usual careless energy, from the way he usually lets Griffin do whatever the fuck he wants.

"Phoenix." His voice makes you jump. Caught staring. Fuck. "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

The words are right—that usual cocky bullshit—but the delivery's wrong. Flat. Like he's reading from a script of himself.

"What, and boost your ego more?" Keep it casual. Normal. Whatever's happening, he clearly doesn't want to talk about it. "Pretty sure that's like, directly against the Geneva Convention."

He tries for a smirk, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Didn't know you were so concerned about war crimes."

"Only the ones happening in my living room."

A ghost of his usual grin, there and gone. Then he's back to his phone, shoulders a hard line under his t-shirt. You watch him tap the screen exactly four times, precise and measured. Since when does he do anything precise?

"Y/N?" Jimin touches your arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just..." You gesture vaguely at your half-eaten slice. "Food coma."

But you keep watching. Can't help it. The way his jaw clenches every few seconds. How he's barely touched his pizza since the Griffin thing. The slight tremor in his fingers when he scratches behind the cat's ears.

He just... trusts the wrong people sometimes, you know?

What the fuck was that about?

"Earth to Y/N!" Yeji's voice cuts through your thoughts. "Back me up here. Pineapple on pizza—yes or no?"

"What? Oh, uh." You force yourself to look away from Jungkook. "Definitely no."

"Thank you!"

"Traitor," Irya accuses, but she's grinning. "I trusted you."

Trust. There's that word again. You glance back at Jungkook, but he's not even pretending to listen anymore. Just staring at his phone, one hand buried in Griffin's fur like an anchor.

Something happened here. Something you're missing. But the more you try to piece it together, the less sense it makes. It's just bread, right? Just Griffin being his usual chaos gremlin self. So why does Jungkook look like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop?

"Hey." Jimin's voice is soft. Private. "Sure you're okay?"

No. Yes. Maybe. You don't know why you're so fixated on this, why you can't just let it go. It's not like you care. It's not like—

"I'm fine." You reach for another slice. "Just tired."

But you can't quite shake the image of his face when you caught Griffin. That raw panic, like he was seeing something else entirely. Someone else.

“Alright I’m so done with this. We are watching Love Island.” Yeji jumps in.

“Since when do you like reality shows?” Jimin asks, smiling.

“Since, uh, never.” She replies, defensively. “I just like seeing stupid people doing stupid shit.”

And that’s how you end up watching Love Island reruns, because apparently that's what your life has devolved into. Jungkook disappeared to his room twenty minutes ago, taking Griffin and his weird mood with him, and you're trying very hard not to think about either of them.

You're failing spectacularly, but whatever.

"You good?" Yeji nudges you with her foot. "You've been weird since the whole bread thing."

"M'fine." You bat her foot away. "Just tired."

She gives you that look, the one that says she knows you're full of shit, but before she can call you out on it, the front door opens.

Yoongi trudges in looking like he's been through seven circles of hell and maybe a Walmart on Black Friday. His beanie's askew, dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than usual—classic post-studio energy. He stops dead when he sees your little gathering, letting out the longest, most defeated sigh you've ever heard.

Then he takes off his beanie, hanging his keys, and—

"You're fucking joking." 

Yeji practically launches herself off the couch, dislodging Irya from where she was curled into her shoulder. What the—

Yoongi freezes. Turns. Very. Slowly.

"........."

"Mint????" Yeji's voice hits a pitch that probably only dogs can hear. "What the actual fuck?"

Yoongi closes his eyes like he's praying for strength. "Please god, no."

Hold up.

You look between them—Yeji vibrating with chaotic energy, Yoongi looking like he wants to evaporate on the spot. Since when does your anti-establishment new possibly best friend know your lowkey famous producer roommate?

"Wait." You sit up straighter. "You know Yoongi?"

"Know him?" Yeji's still staring at Yoongi like he's either Jesus or a sleep-deprived hallucination. "He produced my track six months ago and then ghosted everyone like—"

"I didn't ghost." He dumps his bag on the counter with maybe more force than necessary. "I was working."

"For six months?"

"Yes."

You regard both of them slowly. Because yeah, you knew Yoongi was Mint—Hoseok had dropped that bomb like it wasn't a whole thing. But Yeji? Your anarchist, fight-the-system best friend worked with him? 

"Hold up." Irya's sitting up now too, eyes wide. "You're telling me this is the guy? The one who made that track that almost got you banned from three venues?"

"It was one track." Yoongi's already heading for his room, clearly done with this conversation. "Six months ago."

"It was fire though!" Yeji calls after him. "Could've been more if you hadn't—"

The door closes with a very pointed click.

"Well." Irya breaks the silence. "That was fun."

Another door opens and Jungkook peers out, probably drawn by all the noise. "Was that Yoongi? What's with all the—"

"Did you know Yeji worked with him?" you demand, because apparently this is your life now. Finding out your friend and your roommate have secret music history.

He blinks. "With who?"

"Our roommate? Mint PD? Ring any bells in that empty head of yours?"

"Oh." He shrugs, leaning against his doorframe. "Yeah, but I didn't know it was your Yeji."

"She's not my—wait." You narrow your eyes. "How many Yejis do you know?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, phoenix?"

"It’s not like Yeji is a super common name in New York." 

His grin is insufferable. "Sure about that?"

"God, do you ever shut up?"

"Only when I'm sleeping." He stretches, all casual arrogance. "Sometimes not even then."

"Gross." You turn to your friends. "You guys don't have to leave just because he's being... himself."

But Yeji's already getting up, collecting their stuff. "Nah, it's late. Plus, I need to process the whole Mint thing. That was weird as fuck."

"Text me the story later?" Irya asks, helping gather the pizza boxes. "I want to know everything about this track that got you banned."

"It wasn't banned," Yeji protests. "Just... strongly discouraged from ever being played again."

Jimin helps clean because he's literally an angel walking among mere mortals. You walk them to the door, hyperaware of Jungkook still hovering in his doorway like the creep he is.

"Text me," Yeji mutters as she hugs you goodbye. 

The door closes behind them. When you turn around, Jungkook's gone, door clicking shut like he was never there.

Typical.

You stare at his closed door for a moment, thinking about garlic bread and panic and things that don't make sense.

Whatever. Not your problem.

You're going to commit a murder tonight.

Your friends left hours ago, and you've been trying to wind down—reading, scrolling through TikTok, attempting to be a functional human being who sleeps before their 8AM class. But someone apparently decided 2AM was the perfect time to practice his goddamn electric guitar.

The electric guitar riffs pierce through your wall for the hundredth time, each note a personal attack on your sanity.

Who the fuck plays at 2AM? Who? What kind of sociopath—

Another chord progression. Louder this time.

You grab your pillow, smothering a scream into it as your nails dig into the fabric. Eight AM class tomorrow. Eight. Fucking. AM. And this absolute waste of oxygen is out there having his main character moment like he's the star of some teen angst movie.

Fuck him. Actually fuck him. And fuck past you for fucking him in the first place. Yeah, okay, he's hot. Fine. But does that really balance out this? The constant noise and the attitude and the way he acts like the whole world revolves around him? 

The guitar gets louder, like he knows exactly what you're thinking.

Pain in the ass doesn't even cover it. Pain in places that don't have medical names yet. Pain in the fucking soul.

You snatch your phone off the nightstand, fingers flying over the keyboard:

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝟾𝚊𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 🖕🏻

The guitar stops. Thank god. Thank every possible—

A low chuckle filters through the wall.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞

Your blood pressure spikes.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚜𝚝𝚐 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚗 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚛 𝚞𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞,𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑

A pause. Then:

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚢 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛

You actually growl.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚏𝚌 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚢 🙄

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝟷𝟸??

Another chord rings out. Deliberately slow. Testing.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚗?

You: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛? You: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚢?

The guitar stops. Complete silence. Maybe you went too far, bringing up—

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒 𝚊𝚖

Your heart definitely doesn't skip. Absolutely does not.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛? 🙄

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍

You stare at your phone. At the wall separating your rooms. At your reflection in the dark window, hair a mess and eyes too bright.

This is stupid. This is so fucking stupid.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚑 𝚑𝚞𝚑

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍

Fuck.

Fuck.

Your feet hit the floor before you can think better of it. And isn't that just the whole problem? You never think better of it. Not with him.

So yeah, you make it to his room. Where the devil sleeps.

Your eyes sweep over his walls, taking in all the black and red and—yep, exactly what you expected. Some alt-boy Pinterest board threw up in here. Black wooden bed with those lumberjack pattern sheets, gaming setup that probably cost more than your tuition, wardrobe that's definitely hiding at least three identical black hoodies.

No windows. Makes sense. Vampires and all that.

He's sprawled on the bed like some renaissance painting gone wrong, all long limbs and messy hair like he's been rolling around like a dog marking its territory. The guitar sits easy in his lap, familiar. Natural. 

Not that you notice. Or care.

His eyes flick to you, that insufferable smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He doesn't stop playing, just watches as you hover in his doorway like—nope. Not finishing that thought.

"Didn't think you'd actually come."

"Didn't think you'd actually know how to play." You step into his space, ignoring how the air feels different in here. Heavier. "Yet here we are, disappointing each other."

He snorts, fingers still moving over the strings. Something slower now, almost melodic. "Always so sweet, phoenix."

"Always so annoying, rogue."

But you find yourself moving closer, drawn by the way the notes fill the space between you. It's... not terrible. Actually kind of good, if you're being honest. Which you're not. Obviously.

"What?" He catches you watching his hands. "Surprised I can do something besides annoy you?"

"Mostly surprised you can do anything besides game and be a pain in my ass."

His grin turns wicked. "Pretty sure I do more than that to your—"

"Finish that sentence and die."

He laughs, low and warm, but goes back to playing. Something different now. Softer. You hate that you want to ask what it is.

"Didn't take you for a musician." The words slip out before you can stop them.

His fingers stutter on the strings. Just for a second, barely noticeable. But you notice.

"No?" His voice is carefully casual. Too casual. "What did you take me for?"

"I don't know. Professional asshole? Chief Expert in Being Insufferable?" You comment, flicking a small plushie on his bed. "First Chair Fuck-Up?"

He huffs a laugh, but something's off about it. Like earlier with Griffin. That same weird tension.

"Used to play in a band," he says after a moment. Still not looking at you. "Back in high school."

"Let me guess—My Chemical Romance covers?"

"Nah." His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Original stuff. Mostly."

You wait for more, but he just keeps playing. That same soft melody, over and over. Like he's trying to get it right. Or trying to forget something else.

"It's good."

The words surprise you both. His hands freeze on the strings, eyes snapping to yours.

"The song," you clarify, because apparently your mouth's just doing whatever it wants now. "It's... not horrible."

He stares at you for a long moment. Something shifts in his expression—that cocky mask slipping just slightly. Then:

"Want to hear the whole thing?"

And maybe it's the late hour. Maybe it's the way he's looking at you, all quiet uncertainty beneath that usual swagger. Maybe you're just fucking tired.

"Yeah." You slide down to sit on his floor, back against the bed. "Show me what you got, rogue."

He starts playing something different. Not that angry teenage angst from earlier—this is... softer. More careful. Like he's showing you something he doesn't usually let people see.

Not that you care. Obviously.

The melody wraps around the room, settling into the spaces between your breaths. Your eyes track his hands, the way his fingers move over the strings with a gentleness you didn't know he possessed. It's... nice. Which is annoying. Everything about him is annoying, including the way he makes this look so effortless, the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrates—

Wait.

You know this song.

The notes hit something in your chest—a memory you didn't know you still had.

Your mom's old radio, the one she kept in the garden.

This exact song came on while you were planting flame lilies along the back fence. Then the storm hit—one of those sudden summer downpours that turns the whole world grey.

But instead of running inside like a normal person, your mom just... laughed. Turned the radio up louder, John Mayer's voice competing with the thunder. Grabbed your hands, still covered in dirt, and pulled you into a clumsy dance right there in the rain.

We're slow dancing in a burning room...

You'd both ended up soaked, mud-splattered, spinning in circles while the rain poured down. She'd sung along, completely off-key but not caring. Just you and her and this song, the rest of the world washed away in the storm.

The memory feels wrong now. Too bright. Too clean. Like looking at an old photograph and realizing all the edges have been carefully trimmed, the shadows cropped out.

Because that was before, wasn't it? Before the schedules and the expectations and the constant, crushing weight of—

"Is that—" You cut yourself off, but it's too late. He glances up, catches you staring.

"What?"

You blink. Jungkook's watching you, hands paused on the strings.

"Nothing."

His fingers hover over the guitar. "No, what were you gonna say?"

"Just..." Fuck it. "Pretty sure that's 'Slow Dancing in a Burning Room.' Right?"

Something flickers across his face. "You know Mayer?"

"Unfortunately." You pick at a loose thread on your sleep shorts. "My playlist's not just WAP and Carpool Karaoke, contrary to what you probably think."

He huffs a laugh, but it sounds different. Less cocky asshole, more... something else. His fingers start moving again, picking up where he left off. The notes fill the silence between you, and it's... peaceful? Is that the word? No, that can't be right. Nothing about him is peaceful.

And yet.

"Do you sing too?"

His hands freeze on the strings. Just for a second, but you catch it. The way his shoulders tense, how his jaw ticks slightly before he forces that easy smile back.

"Nah." He starts playing again, but it's different now. Mechanical. "That's... that'd be embarrassing."

There's something in his voice. Something raw that makes you think of earlier, of his panic over Griffin and bread. But before you can chase that thought, he's already shifting gears.

"What, you offering voice lessons, phoenix?"

"As if." You roll your eyes, but you clock the way his fingers are slightly less sure on the strings now. "Just thought maybe you'd want to torture me with your whole package of terrible talents."

"Oh, I've got plenty of talents to torture you with."

"Gross."

But he's relaxing again, that weird tension leaving his shoulders as the conversation drifts back to familiar territory. Safe territory. He keeps playing, and you definitely don't notice how the melody gets smoother, more confident, like maybe he needed the distraction of your bickering to find his rhythm again.

Speaking of distractions—you glance around the room, frowning. "Where's Griffin?"

"Thought he was with you."

"What?" You blink at him. "You never let him sleep with anyone else."

"Well." He sets the guitar aside, stretches like some oversized cat. "You can now."

"I can... what?"

"Have him." He shrugs, but there's something careful in the movement. "For the night. If you want."

You stare at him. He stares back, that almost-smile still playing at his lips.

What the actual fuck is happening right now?

"Who are you and what have you done with my asshole roommate?"

He laughs, and just like that, the weird tension breaks. "Aw, you think I'm yours? That's cute, phoenix."

"I think you're a pain in my ass," you correct, but it lacks heat. Maybe because you're tired. Maybe because he just played something beautiful and shared his cat and you don't know what to do with any of it.

"Only sometimes." He stretches again, shirt riding up. You definitely don't look. "Other times I'm a pain somewhere else—"

You throw the nearest object (a pencil) at his head. "And we're back to normal."

His laugh follows you as you leave, hunting for Griffin. You tell yourself the warm feeling in your chest is just satisfaction at finding new ammunition for future arguments.

He's actually good at something. Who knew?

And if you catch yourself humming "Slow Dancing" as you search for the cat... well. 

Nobody has to know.

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[sherlockggrian]

- notes on impossible minecraft.

It’s the end of Wild Life, and something is different. 

Joel stands, breathing hard, a victor above his failed trap. He holds a sword in one hand, an ender pearl in the other. He knows that when he turns around he will see them, just like the others had. Except when he turns around, there are ghosts.

They’re supposed to go home, after they die. That’s what had always happened. It was how they got out of the world - but it didn’t seem to matter this time, everyone was still here, around him. 

Joel throws the ender pearl, and takes the ghosts with him to the void. They stand around him as he faces the Watchers, though they are unable to see it themselves. Joel begs the Watchers to let them go. He would let the Watchers have him, if they let the others go. But the Watchers don’t want just Joel. They want Grian. 

There are many different worlds within the universe. Hundreds, thousands, infinite numbers - some of them further away, distorted, uninhabitable. Time moves differently in some of them, you could spend a thousand years in one world and only pass the tick of a clock in another. Worlds are created and destroyed every day. Every hermit has come from somewhere - they are all refugees, in a way, forced out of their home worlds for one reason or another. For some, it’s been so long they can hardly remember the place they came from at all. Every world has its own rules. In these strange, short lived places created by the Watchers, the rules have always been simple - to leave, you die. Play the game, run out of lives, and one lucky winner might have the chance of a lifetime, the chance to speak to the gods. It never happened quite like that.

Joel stands in the void now, surrounded by his friends, sword in one hand, empty fist in another. If the Watchers wanted Grian, they’d have to go through him. There is a whirlwind, as the patchwork of worlds twists and turns around them. He’s spinning, thinks Joel. Creating more time. Giving us a chance. Grian calls to the others, to Etho and Cleo and Bdubs, who stand at the back - to go through the door that has appeared in the void. Joel wonders why, and how. The Watcher’s have created a portal - you can go home, they say, all of you - but Grian belongs to us. So does Joel. He won the game, after all. But the ghosts don’t all go home. To Joel’s surprise, he watches as Gem steps forward into the spinning vortex of space and time that he and Grian are caught in. She raises her fists defiantly toward the enormous, impossible beings bearing down on them. Pearl joins them. Then Impulse, and Skizz, their faces written with hard determination. Joel feels a hand take his, and he almost pushes Lizzie away, begging her to follow the others through the portal. He doesn’t. Worlds spin past them, faster and faster, thousands and thousands of them, each a tiny crystal in the infinite void. Grian’s screaming for Scar and Jimmy to go through the portal, and Cleo is trying to pull them in, but they don’t, and they’re running towards the circle of light. Joel tries to move, but finds his feet locked in place, wincing against the wind that whips his cheeks, faster than any storm, and he reaches for Jimmy and pulls him into him, clawing into his back for dear life. For a moment, he doesn’t think Scar is going to make it, but he hears the Watcher’s panicked voices in the back of his mind - 

And then everything stops. He stands, in a circle, on a rocky outcrop, and distantly he thinks he can hear the sound of the sea. Everything is silent. 

It’s the end of Wild Life, and nine players find themselves somewhere unfamiliar. 

The cold chill of winter hangs in the air. They’ve forgotten that it’s late December, somewhere. The world of Wild Life felt warmer. This one doesn’t - it’s bitter, there’s a freezing wind coming in from the ocean, and an icy layer of snow on the ground. It’s not a place any of them recognize. 

This world instantly proves itself to be different. The first death comes within an hour. Lizzie bolts upright, back on the slab of rock, still reeling from what had killed her. Pearl nurses a wound where the bark of a tree had sliced into her skin. Five hours in, and the group realizes that wherever they are, the rules here are unlike anything they’ve ever seen.

Grian privately wishes the others had gone through the portal home. He tries everything he can think of, but is unable to reach beyond the borders of the world. They’re trapped here, in this place where reality seemed to warp in on itself, and everything wanted to kill them. No matter how many times they died, they always ended up back on the rock by the ocean. 

Grian can’t tell if the Watcher’s had meant to send them here. They’d panicked, caught off guard by Grian’s swarm of chaos and unexpected backup. He can tell…something is here, though he’s not sure what - it’s an overbearing presence, a feeling that somebody is controlling them, watching them, learning from them. He has one goal in his mind. Reach the End, kill the dragon, and he can make a portal home. It’s worked in the past. The End is like a pocket dimension, a border between worlds, a place where the rules didn’t apply. They could get home, if they could only make it to the End. The uneasiness grows on him, and Grian tries to push it away, focusing on staying alive. The others are determined. He’s angry, at first, that they’d followed him, but soon he’s glad to have them. Three days in, and they’ve already grown somewhat numb to the constant onslaught of physical attacks. Grian almost welcomes the familiar feeling of dying. He catches himself cursing the view from his makeshift bed, wishing he might wake up anywhere else. 

A week in, and the determination starts to wear down. 

The cold makes it difficult. Gem shivers as she tries to heat her cabin, attempting to find a way to light a fire without burning to death. Despite their constant battle with the lava flow, the world is freezing everywhere else, hung deep within the darkness of winter. Pearl tries to make amends, but Gem is still tense, guarded, cautious - though she says they are on the same team now, the heat of the recent game is still clearly in her mind. Jimmy attempts to grow food, battling the icy wind and little daylight. Joel tries his best to gather Iron, though the caves are worse than above ground. Impulse and Skizz’s successful iron farm is a win. That night, the group huddles all together on the top floor of Joel’s cabin, repeating the only glimmer of hope they have, that they just have to kill the dragon. Joel starts to think it might be impossible. 

Two weeks in, and it’s like the world is learning from them, like it can see the small victories and successes, and preys on them like a hawk. Lizzie curses as the smoker burns her eyes, leaving what little food she had charred and barren. The sharks encroach further and further from the water. The Nether is a literal hellscape - and Grian almost gets used to the feeling of burning to death. Almost. 

And Scar, Scar is…wrong. He drifts along, as though he isn’t quite there all the time. He disappears, then reappears, once in front of Gem’s eyes - and she blinks, trying to make sense of what she’s seeing. He falls asleep, or stands still, and seems to sit on the edges of the world itself, growing stranger and stranger. Grian can feel it. He’s not really there, not all of him. 

When they’d been in the void, Grian had screamed for Scar, feeling the tug of the vortex already pulling him away. He’d grabbed out and touched his hand, reality bending and warping around them. He’d barely seen Scar’s wide, terrified eyes, before they’d been whisked from the black hole into the broken world they found themselves in. Scar had just made it. Or maybe he hadn’t. It was like he was half there, one foot inside the portal and one out - and as time went on and the world’s borders stretched and warped, so did Scar, drifting in and out of consciousness. Sometimes Scar found himself back home, except it wasn’t the right home, it was one he’d left years ago - and he’d wander aimlessly, utterly alone, before realizing it wasn’t right. He hopped between dreams and worlds, living and unliving, shadows and reality. Back in the strange place, the group grew increasingly anxious. Grian felt the hope he’d held for the End dwindling. He was powerless here. All of them were. 

Then, finally, they have the Eyes of Ender. They knew how to do this part. Lizzie stayed with Scar while the others went out, trying to shove thoughts out of her mind of what might happen if they were to fall into the void. They make it to the stronghold, the place they need to be, and all they have to do is defeat the dragon - freeing the borders of the End, and letting them go. Only the dragon doesn’t look how it normally does. It wasn’t like Grian expected it to, anyways. 

Six weeks in, and the compass is their last hope. If they can just get the echo shards, they’ll have a chance at killing the dragon. Gem has never liked the Deep Dark. It twists around her, whispering things in her ear and making her head hurt. Be careful, says Joel, as she leaves the camp with Grian and Jimmy. We need you. We need all of you to come back alive. 

It’s near the very end, when Grian remembers. He feels the twinge of longing in his back muscles, the phantom pain of something that should be there that isn’t. He could fight the dragon, if he was truly himself, if he had access to it - and he wonders if it’s possible. He’s never done it without killing the dragon first. There’s a first time for everything, he supposes. He’s not sure why he takes Jimmy. Maybe it’s because they’ve been together now for longer than they’ve been in a long time, and Grian is holding on to the hope that maybe he can keep Jimmy safe, if he takes him home. Maybe it’s because he feels guilty, still, for Wild Life - he’d only been trying to keep him from getting to the end, but still, the anger had been real. The blood had been real. There was no changing that. Maybe it’s because Jimmy is his brother, and despite it all, Grian still trusts him. Jimmy has always been complicated like that. 

When they get the wings, the feeling is magical. Grian feels the familiar magic course through his veins, and the feathers unfold from his back. It feels like taking a breath of fresh air again, arising from a deep and stagnant cave. Against all odds, here, in this broken, far away world where reality bent in on itself like a broken spring - Grian has wings, and Grian could fly. 

How many weeks has it been? Grian doesn’t know anymore. He forces Scar to come with him, one last time. They would make one last journey to the stronghold. They were ready for it, this time. For once it felt good to fight together, and not against one another. Pearl’s shouts echo through the black landscape, and Joel and Lizzie take swings side by side, no longer feeling the sting of death as they roll between hits. Gem fires arrow after arrow, and Grian and Jimmy weave through the great obsidian pillars, throwing themselves at the crystals, wincing to bear the explosion. The dragon has three lives. Grian is reminded, then, of a world far away - and he thinks, in a way, the answer is still to die. The universe works in a web of death and life. The Watchers aren’t the only power that exists out there. There are other forces at work, stranger than he can imagine, and as Grian lands the final blow, he feels the world around him shift, the borders change, and the End stretch out infinitely beyond him in a mass of dark void. As much as he hates it, it does feel like home. The Watcher’s voices echo in the darkness somewhere. Grian deliberately sounds them out.

Then they’re holding hands, standing in a circle, watching the dark, starless sky. Grian stares at the portal in the ground, a swirling mass of blue and black and endlessness, and knows that it will always lead the player back home. He feels that background presence start to lift, and he grips Jimmy’s hand tightly in his right hand, Scar’s in his left. Scar holds Gem, who holds Impulse, to Skizz, to Pearl, to Lizzie - and to Joel, whose grip on Lizzie and Jimmy is a little harder. In the back of his mind, he knows they have no home world. He wonders if they’ll make it back with them - or if they would once again be torn from him, transported somewhere else in the fabric of the universe. They couldn’t, he thinks, because right now, Joel’s grip is enough to hold the entire universe itself. 

Gem looks to Pearl, just before they jump. Her eyes are shut, her face lined with quiet determination and concentration, her hair pulled back and tangled from the fight. Gem thinks she might forgive her. 

Then they jump, the nine of them, all holding each other, just like they did in the void, just like they did when Wild Life ended. Worlds spin past them like grains of sand in a vast ocean. A thousand sunrises pass by in the blink of an eye, and Joel feels Jimmy and Lizzie start to drift away from him - but he pulls them in, holding on for dear life, clenching his eyes as the colours swirl around him. Grian knows the Watchers are out there somewhere, no doubt trying to steal him away. They can try, he thinks, surrounded by his friends. In reality, no Watcher can even come close to them now. Love disgusts the Watchers. It repels them. Scar had always said that is what made Grian human still, despite it all. Scar looks at Grian, a single constant in the spinning mass, and feels himself fall back together, like pieces of a puzzle. 

It is sometime in late winter, maybe early Spring. The snow is starting to melt here, and new shoots of grass are just barely emerging from beneath the dry bed of last year’s growth. Stars blink down over the lawn, where nine people lay, hand in hand, breathing hard. A light flickers on from a window a few feet away, where Hypno sits up in bed, wondering what the sound outside is that has woken him. The gentle glow of a Lighthouse hums in the distance. Mumbo rolls over, waking from the strangest dream he’s had in his life. Etho meets the eyes of Tango, still awake and drinking over a game on the table, and he feels something shift, like a slight pull at the back of his chest. Xisuma pulls the curtains back from his window and looks out toward the group of people in the distance, and smiles. He’d known it before they’d even landed. 

Joel, still holding the hands of Lizzie and Jimmy, still feeling the sting of the sword and the rush of blood and the hope and loss and finality of Wild Life, starts to laugh. 

hey if you read this far I love you!!! just wanted to get my thoughts out on the impossible lore, without doing a tumblr textpost word vomit lol. you can read this on ao3 if you'd like, I love the comments!

[lsunstreakerl]

for kink prompt...SH!verse, the possessive jealous threesome that never was with max charles + lewis. either it actually happening or max riling charles up by talking about it 😎

1.9k words because they spend too much time yapping. kink prompt fill! SH lestappen and the threesome that never was. explicit, obviously.

pairings: charles leclerc/max verstappen, (in spirit) lewis hamilton/charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant heads up: slight feminization? in a little bit of a derogatory way but that's more so a thing Max isn't willing to admit he likes. I think the most outrageous thing here is charles taking a picture without asking (but it doesn't go anywhere except the private folder on his phone)

"Max, are you mad at me?"

Max is currently firmly on his side of the bed, trying very hard not to be mad at Charles.

It's not even anger, it's just-

"No."

Charles sighs, half rolling over to drape an arm across his waist.

"I don't believe you."

Three points to Charles, because despite how he's behaving, apparently he isn't an idiot.

"That is because I am lying."

There's a beat of silence. Charles is clearly giving him space to elaborate, and Max is very clearly not interested in elaborating, because it's stupid.

Charles grips his waist and rolls them, settling them so that Max is facing him, even though he's avoiding eye contact.

"Chéri- I cannot fix it if you don't talk to me."

Max frowns.

"I thought you'd be more interested in talking to Lewis."

Charles makes a face like he's swallowed a lemon, and it's the closest to unattractive Max has ever seen him, which makes him feel slightly better.

"What?"

Well, Max has already gone and stuck his foot in his mouth, why not make it worse.

"Since you two have been so cozy lately."

The root of the problem here is that Max is acting like a jealous, bitchy WAG. Ferrari had done some dumb clothing collaboration for the winter, and it had involved Charles and Lewis and a fucking log cabin. With one bed.

"Max, what are you-"

Max tries to roll back over, but Charles snags him around the waist, pulling him back in. Max ducks his head down, catches his teeth around the edge of Charles' collarbone and nips.

"Ow- Max. What do you mean by that?"

Max keeps his head down.

"Your stupid winter ad went out today, and everyone on the internet is talking about how you are both 'so boyfriend coded' and it is stupid."

Charles is quiet for a moment, and Max is sure he's coming up with some kind of apology, appropriately dramatic for the situation.

Charles laughs.

Max practically gives himself whiplash yanking his head back, eyes narrowed.

"Sorry- Max, baby, I am sorry, really, it is just-"

Max groans and rolls away. Yes, it's stupid. Yes, he knows. Yes, Charles would rather step on a slobbery dog toy than get in bed with Lewis. Still.

"Chéri, come back-"

Charles can barely speak through his laughter, and Max flips him off as he stalks out of the bedroom.

Stupid boyfriend. He turns his head slightly, calling out over his shoulder in a parting shot.

"Maybe I should go dig up the tweets from 2021, where everyone was talking about how Lewis bends me over after every race- see how you feel then."

The laughter abruptly cuts off, and Max has to fight not to choke on his own sudden giggle.

He turns to poke his head back through the doorway, and Charles is sitting up, duvet pooled around his waist, eyes narrowed.

"I'm sorry, what tweets?"

Oh- oh Charles doesn't know.

Max can't stop the smug grin playing at his lips as he tugs his phone out of his pocket.

"You did not see them? It was practically every weekend Charlie, all these accounts saying Lewis puts me in my place after every race, or that I was just being bratty- Lando sent me one that called Lewis my dom once-"

Max lights up, delighted at the way Charles' face has gone shadowy. This whole thing could have been avoided if he'd just apologized.

"I mean, really- if everyone thought he and I were fucking, and now you and him are fucking, we should just invite him in, see if he fucks as good as his reputation."

"Max."

Charles' voice is dark, and Max freezes. When he looks up, Charles' eyes are locked onto his, and they don't waver as he speaks.

"Leave your phone on the counter, and then you're coming back to bed."

Max hadn't intended to make Charles act like... this.

He's not complaining. He drops his phone off on the dresser before making his way back onto the bed, and his knee has barely hit the mattress before Charles is manhandling him, laying him out flat with his wrists pinned above him.

"You can still apologize for that, and we can pretend it didn't happen."

Max is not fucking apologizing, if anything Charles needs to apologize, for doing such a stupid photoshoot.

He raises his chin.

"Maybe you want him on the phone to hear it also? I can moan his name very easily as well, want to hear-"

Charles grips his jaw hard, bringing his teeth down into the meat of Max's shoulder, and Max gasps, jerks at his hands, but Charles keeps them held firm.

"Don't be a whore, Max."

Max hates how those words, in that tone, is rapidly making him hard, pressing his hips up into Charles.

"You really think you would want Lewis here? You want him to see you beg for fingers, start crying on my cock? You want him to see how desperate you get to be full, the way you fall apart if I don't give you something when I'm done?"

Max tilts his head back, because Charles' tone is dark, and he's still holding his jaw in his hand, but Max is grinning.

"Maybe he would fuck me better. Maybe he would not tease, maybe he would not even-"

Charles shoves three fingers into his mouth and Max gags, knows he's dug his own grave.

"What if I said you were right? What if I called him right now, left the phone next to you on the pillow and edged you all night?"

Charles scoffs, pulling his fingers out and wrestling Max's shorts off, pressing his thighs apart, and Max moans.

"You- you would not, you get too impatient to get your dick in me-"

Charles presses his thumb meanly into the tip of Max's cock, and Max jerks underneath him.

"Fuck, you're as wet as a girl, aren't you baby? You want it that bad? You really are a whore, if this is all it takes."

Max twists underneath him, thighs flexing.

"No- no, it is not-"

"Right, of course not. You'd probably love if I called him over, let him see you fucked out and messy. Maybe I'd let him have my sloppy seconds when I'm done with you, yes?"

Max's face is violently red, and he didn't mean for any of this, the way he's so hard it hurts, the way Charles isn't fucking stretching him, the way his words are ringing in his ears.

He opens his mouth to respond, but Charles flicks his wrist again, and Max's head flies back into the pillowcase.

"Charlie,"

Charles continues talking over him, like Max hadn't said anything at all.

"He seems like a tits guy, and you've got plenty."

"They're not-"

Max hates when Charles calls them... that. It makes something in his gut churn, makes him feel hot. He squirms underneath Charles, wants to hide his face or have his hands back, but Charles doesn't give him the option.

Charles laughs at him again, lowers his head around one of Max's pecs and bites, and Max's hips jerk up off the bed, legs wrapping around Charles as tears bead at his eyes.

"Hurts, Charles please, please I didn't mean it-"

Charles lets go, bringing his head back up to kiss Max, wet and filthy and messy.

"I thought you wanted Lewis, no?"

Max bites at Charles' lower lip, pulling him in with his legs to grind against him.

"You- I want you, fuck me, please."

Charles squeezes his wrists together for a moment, grinning against his skin.

"See, I would, but-"

He presses Max back into the mattress, sucking hickies into his throat where they'll be impossible to hide.

"-you are being a brat."

Max moans, half out of desperation and half out of frustration, fruitlessly grinding his hips up for friction. It's not enough.

"Please, I was-"

Charles squeezes at the base of Max's cock, long fingers wrapped around him, and Max could cry. He's not getting fucked tonight. He'll be lucky if he gets off at all.

Charles must be able to see the resignation on his face, and he laughs at him as he brushes his fingers across Max's tip- gets them wet and sticky before bringing them back up to his lips.

"Suck."

Max lets his mouth drop open, and he's trying not to cry around Charles' fingers, even as he can feel Charles rutting against his hip, because it's not fair-

Charles tenses, groaning as his fingers press deep into Max's mouth, grazing the back of his throat. Max gags, feels sticky and wet and hot, and he's not going to come tonight, but Charles still looks so pretty above him.

He's still trying to swallow down the excess saliva when Charles pulls his fingers out, wiping them against Max's cheek.

Charles leans over him, grabbing his phone off the dresser before sitting back on his heels, and Max is still so pent up, so close to coming he really thinks all it would take it just a bit of pressure.

Max doesn't realize for a second until he hears the shutter noise, and then it hits him- Charles has taken a picture of him, debauched and messy, desperate and wanting.

"Oh, oh don't send that-"

Charles huffs a laugh, tossing the phone down by Max as he lets go of his wrists.

"If you want to get off so bad you can call Lewis and beg him."

Max whimpers, because he doesn't fucking want Lewis, he wants Charles.

"You, just you, I only want-"

Charles brushes his fingers lightly against Max's hip, so close to where he wants him, but not close enough.

"That's right."

"Please."

Charles grins down at him, gorgeous and beautiful and terribly mean.

"You can beg prettier than that."

Max feels tears sliding down his cheeks, and he's so close, he might even get there just by Charles taking that humiliating tone with him.

"Please, please get me off, please let me come, only you- I never wanted anyone else, just for you, Charles please-"

"There we go."

Charles finally wraps his fingers back around Max's cock, and Max sobs, gasping as Charles jerks his wrist, and then he's done, feels his own come painting stripes across his stomach, trembling underneath Charles' hands.

"That's it, there you are."

Charles carefully strokes him through it, letting go right before it tips into overstimulation, leaning down to gently kiss Max.

"You were so good for me, you are so beautiful like this, I love you."

Max steadies his breathing, tugs Charles into him to hide his face in his neck.

"Thank you, thank you, I'm sorry-"

Charles presses a kiss into his hair.

"Nothing to be sorry for, unless you actually want Lewis in the bedroom."

The post-nut clarity is starting to hit, and Max recoils slightly.

"Eugh-"

Charles bursts into laughter, peppering kisses on Max's face and cheeks, dropping one on his nose.

"So now it is not okay? You are ridiculous, did you know that?"

Max turns his nose up, avoiding eye contact.

"I of course do not know what you're talking about. I was very mature about the whole thing."

Charles squawks, looking affronted.

"This whole thing started because of you-"

Max is going to pretend he doesn't know what he's talking about.

[aenor-llelo]

amitoufo he is carbondated

It's the Year of the Snake. Destiny 2's Heresy just came out. But this ain't about her. I sit on your shoulder, I am your xiaoren.

I'm Taiwanese! Let's carbon date The Drifter!

Lightbearers retain their semantic memory (facts, concepts, ideas) and procedural memory (memory of how to do things) of their original life before death. This is implied from game/lore instances of Guardians with unique accents, ethnic coding, memory of languages that are obscure post-Collapse, even cases of Guardians retaining pre-rez war PTSD. It is outright confirmed by Sen-Aret, a Guardian who- due to the sheer age of her remains or some error by her Ghost- was raised with only the knowledge she had in life, and had to learn about modern weapons/language from other Guardians.

Why does this mean anything? It means that the way a Guardian prefers to dress, talk, and generally behave tells you where they came from pre-rez!

Aside from his voice actor being Vietnamese, his entry in the official cookbook is banh mi, a Vietnamese dish, and his clothes are Chinese, which would point to him being Hoa, the Han people of Vietnam. (He also wraps his clothes in an orientation specific to corpses, because he doesn't count Lightbearers as truly alive humans.)

Behavior-wise, though, have you noticed how obsessed he is with jade? The coins, the necklace. Jade is a very precious stone in the Sinosphere, and jade jewelry is for giving luck or protection to the wielder- what you will hear less commonly is that it is meant to work by breaking instead of you when something happens. We give them to kids and elderly for this reason.

(You can wonder, for a second, the jade coins he always plays with before Gambit rounds, wraps around certain weapons for you, and the Red String of Fate ornament for Malfeasance. Is this a man perpetually deeply terrified for everyone or himself, or is he every middle aging ah-yi who just got back into religion while you were in school?)

So he's Vietnamese and the Chinese influence means his pre-rez life had to have been after Chinese imperial interference with Vietnam. Unfortunately, four different historical periods between 111 BC and the 1400s isn't good carbon dating. KE SHI NI HUI KANDAO THE SANDWICH,

banh mi is a baguette sandwich. this kind of bread comes to vietnam in the mid-19th century from French colonizers, and only during WWI did a mixed flour version make this bread accessible outside luxury. Early 1900s le. But "post-1900s" isn't a better narrowing down than "BCs to 1400s" in a future setting like Destiny.

Except that Drifter's banh mi recipe specifically uses pâté. This was only a common banh mi filling before the 1950s, when the partition of Vietnam sent an influx of northerners to Saigon and led to the Saigon sandwich that is modern banh mi. So, 1910s to 1950s. And the fact that he defaults to hanfu rather than Western dress or more modern standard Vietnamese ethnic clothing like ao dai skews him having been an adult on the earlier end of this time frame or living in a more rural area where colonization ideas were not as enforced. (One could explore him having other Vietnamese forms of cultural expression like lacquered teeth, actually.)

Ain't that something? He could have lived through WWI or even saw the beginning of the Communist revolution. The possibility that his first life was a survivor of colonization, war draft, and/or violent civil war could add a lot to readings of his character, especially his C-PTSD, but that's a whole other post if the people demand it. It's a neat thing to explore, huh?

And don't call him a rat le! Bad enough already the game think that is cute! White people calling East Asians rats is generally a slur in reference (from my collection) to immigrant "infestation" and part of general stereotypes about their uncleanliness (they cook with gutter oil, they eat rats, they cheap they scam they lie dadadada). You want source bigger than I grow up with white people shout in my face and their children pull their eyes to squint like a "jap"? Look up WWI propaganda posters about Japan. They did not invent that out of nowhere, they make Japanese people into rats because that's something they already say.

"It's just about Japanese-" what if I told you a large part of Western racism about Asians is that they can't tell the difference and don't care. and they're making fun of similar cultures and features.

"My Asian friend said it was okay-" the asian friend values your friendship and your comfort more than what they feel when you say slurs, dude. sorry i had to be the one to tell you that. one friend (or stranger online) giving you the pass to say it in front of them doesn't mean you're allowed to say it to everyone.

"it's fictional-" Real East Asian people getting beat down by Sinophobia matters a little more than how cute you think it is to call a Vietnamese man an animal that your culture associates with filth and plague.

"Chinese zodiac animal-" The snake is right there. The game won't shut up about how snake he is. We're having a Drifter-heavy episode right in the beginning of the snake lunar year. His personality matches the charm, mystery, and wisdom associated with the sign. He is never thematically associated with rats. He is never respectfully associated with rats.

It would be one thing if it was another asian character calling him that in the context of the rat's folkloric characteristics, but this is an American game by an American studio writing someone voiced by a non-asian to call him a rat as an insult about his cleanliness and food choices. Good for you if that doesn't hurt your feelings! Hurt many more people than you! They more real than him!

Good game story. Mistakes happen! Doesn't mean you have special privilege to repeat it.

He is snake! Viper! Asp! Cost zero dollar to say that instead! Don't keep a pet slur in your pocket!

[rei-ismyname]

X-Men #11 Review

To be honest, this one was underwhelming. There's always something worthy of commentary, it just feels like not much happens and it doesn't quite feel like a full issue - perhaps because it bucks the Marvel formula of the three Cs - conflict, choice, and conclusion.

Stuff certainly happens but nothing that couldn't be summed up in a few sentences at the start of next issue. The last three issues have all had high stakes, for better or worse, and without room to breathe tension burns out.

The Raid on Graymalkin is over but not much has changed, Agent Fucko and the O*N*E have stood down, and everyone is moving on. I didn't expect to see a discussion about recent events but I really want one. Serious shit has gone down very recently and all these people should have opinions on that. The X-Men are used to constant drama but still ... it feels like those events didn't matter and the characters feel thinner for it. It's said that the O*N*E visit was 'earlier' yet Beast is standing and relaxed despite being beaten badly. Maybe Xorn is that good a healer.

After a cold open on some kind of space bullshit crashing nearby, we cut to Beast and Jen Starkey running some tests on her mutation. They're on an awkward first name basis after she reminds him but they're getting along well enough. Hank theorises that she's a metamorph of some kind and tests that hypothesis. Flying seems like a risky place to start but I'm not a scientist. Fortunately he's right and she's not a reality warper or something - she grows wings and assumes avian features. Cool. We move on from them as the plot is happening to other people. Nice to see you both, say hi to Magneto for me.

Whatever crashed is making a beeline for Merle, and Scott feels the O*N*E visit has already disrupted the town enough for one day. If it wasn't coming for them he says it would be none of their business, which is understandable. The X-Men have so many red alert crises and threats coming for them that they couldn't operate as traditional superheroes even if they wanted to. I think that might be this book's identity - Cyclops and friends playing whack-a-mole with endless mutant problems. Although, in other books they're expanding the scope. They're fighting one of Cyttorak's kids right now in Amazing Spider-Man, they've agreed to be on call to the Avengers and have an alliance of sorts; though when all the heroes gather for One World Under DOOM the only mutant present is Storm. Maybe they're in space due to this issue, but the degree of connectivity feels inconsistent. That's often been a thing with X-books, except it's been explicitly set up in Avengers so I don't know what to think.

The banter is cute and the ad hoc points system adorable, but it's mood whiplash considering there's been no time skip since the last 3 intense issues. Maybe I'm nitpicking. I've certainly been known to. People who aren't able to decompress after high stress situations often turn to humour to cope. Something I find myself saying with this book a lot is 'I guess we'll see if it's followed up on.' Given the amount of dangling plot threads and character beats I can't help but feel that the book doesn't deserve that grace. I'll come back to that.

Moving on, Scott needs to be captured by alien bounty hunters and this is how it happens. The visitor from space is Scott's deadbeat dad, Corsair. He's here to warn him that he's got a huge battalion after him, but he really doesn't prioritise it. They greet warmly but Scott is suspicious of his motives, an attitude he had in Phoenix but one that's at odds with other recent history. Whatever - Corsair sucks and he deserves to get called out.

Haha! Krakoa callbacks have been pretty inconsistent, but this is definitely a fun one to dredge up. The Starjammers did abandon the New Mutants to Shi'Ar prison for petty reasons and Magik remembers. She interrupts Scott's interrogation and punches the old geezer in the face. Good for her. Space jail sucks and that's dry snitching.

It's interrupted by Beast detecting even more space bullshit with his instruments. A space whale carrying a whole bunch of aliens is rolling up. So that's what the situation is, thanks Corsair.

'For you. They're here for you.' Not hard.

Err, you didn't really say that, Corsair. Sure, you used that word, but there was no sense of urgency when you could have just said 'aliens are coming to get you, Scott Summers, very soon. It's an emergency.' Even after getting angry he talks about himself and deflects. Just fucking tell them what's happening dude. 'They' is vague and you basically wasted your time. He's not even finished blundering.

The X-Men leap into action with Scott assuming the bounty hunters are here for Corsair - a VERY reasonable assumption. That they're actually here for Scott is very strange. I think Scott taking the situation at face value would be correct 99% of the time - Corsair is a dodgy space pirate who's always being chased by bounty hunters whereas Scott is a Shi'Ar ally and on decent terms with the Kree-Skrull empire. As Corsair admits, he has a 2.5 million credit bounty on his head. No idea what the exchange rate is but it sounds like a lot. I wonder if they're still using Mysterium as a currency and store of value.

There's been some big changes in galactic politics recently in response to Jean and Phoenix cruising around. Gladiator freaked out about it and long story short the Galactic Council put Thanos in charge. They shouldn't be able to do that but mind control is probably involved. Hulkling, Wiccan, or Xandra have been strangely absent. Anyway, failing to get across that they're after Scott is such a blunder I have to wonder if it's not a betrayal. Corsair is an idiot, but that makes this an idiot plot. His and Scott's argument ends up being a pointless waste of time - just taking up page space.

Temper scorches the poor whale, lucky it's lobotomized. The X-Men come through a portal onto the whale ship and raise hell. It's always nice to see how effectively the team work together, though we've just had an event full of pointless violence. Scott thinks he's rescuing his dad but he's really charging into a trap. Corsair eventually convinces Quentin to let him into the telepathic group chat and HE STILL YAPS ABOUT IRRELEVANT INFORMATION. Fuck, just tell him they're here for him; Scott doesn't need to know about the economics of interstellar travel right now.

'I came to warn you, son. I'll do so after including as much extraneous information as possible.' Corsair manages to spit it out only after Scott has already realised something is up. The bounty hunters are wearing Ruby Quartz armor (which is pretty cool) and they've got Cyclops surrounded. Seems like Magik could get him out of there pretty easily, or Scott could blow a hole in the floor. Juggernaut, famously, can't be stopped - surely he can take out these chumps.

Only now do we get 'they're after you.' Three words that he could have said at any time, or even thought it at either of the two telepaths present. He even has a ship-to-speeder communicator that he could have used to get to the point. It's necessary to have characters make mistakes and have errors in communication. It's a reliable and relatable source of drama. Filling half the issue with Corsair dropping out of the sky and saying plenty of words that don't advance the plot or characters in a believable way feels like pointless filler. Corsair has had more dialogue than Glob, Xorn, and Ben Liu - all ongoing characters - and all of it served no purpose. You could remove him from this issue without affecting anything. As I said in the intro, stuff happens, but nothing that couldn't be summed up in a few sentences for the next issue.

Now that Corsair has said what he came to say he's wallpaper. Good. Idie and Quentin are looking to support their teammates when fucking Alpha Flight arrive to help (I think?) A Beaubier-less Alpha Flight is not particularly interesting to me, but I like most of them. They all got imprisoned by ORCHIS during Fall of X for supporting mutants. Definitely cool behaviour, and Puck is generally rad (not sure if he's here) but I there's one member who can go fuck himself.

James MacDonald Hudson is the worst. He's ostensibly a hero but he does a lot of reactionary bootlicking. He briefly joined ORCHIS out of fear of mutants but got cold feet when Australia was nearly destroyed. I'll rant about him another time, but woo - Alpha Flight are here to support the X-Men. Maybe the space bullshit will only take up one more issue. It ends there, so we'll find out next time.

Around issue #5 of this run I stated that I was starting to notice the narrative formula. Each issue will focus on a handful of characters while introducing some new crisis, the rest of the team will get a few panels at best, there'll be some action squeezed in somewhere and then it'll end on a cliffhanger. The cumulative effect is that the plot is glacially slow, the characters have one or two defining traits/issues, and most plot points dangle as crisis after crisis gets piled on.

Even the plot points that have been revisited haven't been resolved in any way, like Graymalkin or the ongoing O*N*E cold war. Here's a list of the dangling plot threads and character beats I could think of without rereading.

- 3K and the adult mutants

- Cassandra Nova

- R-LDS

- The Upstarts

- Graymalkin prison

- The O*N*E

- Scott's anxiety attack

- Piper Cobb

- Magik's chess game

- Idie's problems with authority and teamwork

- Magneto. Just Magneto. He's there but has little to say

- The Phoenix

- Beef with Rogue

- King Bedlam's price

Any one of these things would usually be a priority to deal with or at least discuss. I feel like it devalues their importance to just introduce a new problem almost every issue and it makes it harder to get invested in events as they unfold. This issue, for instance - I suspect it'll be resolved next issue and not spoken about again. Or, it will be a drawn out space adventure like the old days and all the Earthly problems will be put on the backburner. Either way it's a problem caused by frontloading all these crises and continually stacking them on top of one another.

There are moments of solid execution and meaningful character work, but when everything is a crisis nothing is. X-Men #11 looks pretty good, as usual, but it's entirely skippable. If you are a big Corsair fan and want 10 pages of him failing a simple task then this book is for you, but if not you can get everything you need from the intro blurb next issue.

[visenyaism]

My cringe great bastard oc is meri flowers she's the daughter of a hot Hightower lady named rhaelene (ostensibly bc she's descended from rhaena of pentos) and was born with pale lavender eyes and gold hair streaked with silver

Anyway her mom was way too busy being hot and agonizing over how aegivn didn't want her to worry about raising this kid who had the audacity to be born female and therefore not be able to be knighted by the king or something so meri is left entirely in the hands of a maester and a nurse both of whom decided fuck it when she was around four bc meri loves debating people taught herself to read and thinks too much about too many things all the time

Therefore meri obviously decided to use all the authority being a Hightower bastard and a King's daughter gives her and makes someone take her to the Citadel where she runs rampant for the next eight years bc lord Hightower is too amused by her antics to stop her so all the Maesters start living in fear of this tiny girl with terrifying eyes popping up in their lecture halls and offices and cornering them with massive books to go "I read your book but I disagree with you why didn't you take into consideration this thing that I read in another book or this other thing hey why are you running away from me" (it's because she usually wins)

She also learns to play the Westerosi equivalent of the violin and sings really well during this time but uses this talent to make up songs about the Maesters she dislikes which are such bops that everyone finds themselves singing them which makes everyone soooooo mad

Anyway when she's like twelve lord Hightower takes her to court to meet her father and tells her beforehand to be very nice and sweet and polite to the King she interprets this to mean "kiss his ass like no one has ever been ass kissed before" and it works she tells him about this prophecy she definitely for real found in a book that says he'll be the greatest targ king since the conqueror and makes up songs about the people he hates and generally makes him really like her

Anyway she is borderline a medieval socialist so she hates him and all her half siblings except shiera who she gets a baby lesbian crush on so she takes no sides when aegivn dies and war breaks out instead she decides to take her little collection of Disaffected Bastard Children of random nobles and runs off to go take down feudalism and then they all disappear in the Riverlands and are never heard from again

Bloodraven immediately propagandizes this claiming that she disappeared on Bracken land and that she was a victim of the blackfyre side and tries to make her a martyr even though he fucking hates her guts bc she once told him he was a slimy little toad who should stop using shiera as the mediator for his obsessive crush on bittersteel

Bittersteel responds by claiming that she actually disappeared on Blackwood land and that she was totally for sure 100% on their side even though she once very loudly told him to leave shiera alone and go suck daemon blackfyre's cock some more in front of half the court

(Shiera thought meri was cute and greatly enjoyed the added spice she introduced into the situationship)

Anyway what happened to meri flowers? Who knows. Except that she probably died as she lived: annoying the shit out of everyone around her god bless her little marxist intellectual ass

Okay disappearing bastard Jonestown in the middle of the riverlands is such an insane concept I love it

[heliosunny]

you have written for both hsr and genshin. any plans for zzz? (also anything for yan!alhaitham pls...... NO PRESSURE BTW!!!!)

I played zzz during the time they release Harumasa and stopped after that. My poor phone couldn't handle Genshin either so I stopped at the beginning of Natlan. My poor laptop is holding on for its dear life since I abuse it w Hsr :)))) Maybe I'll watch people play for the story and characters. I don't want to ruin any character and write things without basic knowledge.

Also, here's a short fic for Alhaitham.

Yandere!Alhaitham x Reader

The first letter arrives on a Monday.

You nearly miss it, slipping your textbooks into your bag as the final bell rings. A crisp white envelope sits neatly atop your desk, unmarked except for your name written in precise, elegant handwriting. The paper is thick, too formal for a casual note from a classmate.

Curiosity wins over caution. You unfold the letter, eyes skimming the words written in deep black ink.

You always prefer sitting by the window, even though the sunlight strains your eyes after a while. I wonder—do you realize how often you rub them when you think no one is looking?

You walked to class today with precisely seven minutes to spare, just like always. Routine is something you value, isn't it? It makes you predictable.

You are an anomaly among the ordinary, an equation I find myself drawn to solve. It is only natural for me to observe.

No signature. No indication of who wrote it. But the words feel… meticulous. Too structured to be a prank. Too detailed to be random.

You glance around the now-empty classroom, your pulse picking up speed.

Someone has been watching you.

You clutch the letter tighter, fingers pressing into the fine paper as a chill creeps up your spine. Who would write something like this? And more importantly—how long have they been watching you?

Shoving the letter into your bag, you push your way out of the classroom and down the hall, searching for something, or rather-someone grounding.

Your friends are waiting at your usual spot near the lockers, chatting about the latest test results. Their presence should be comforting, but the words in your bag linger like a shadow at the back of your mind.

“Hey, you okay?” One of them nudges your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you lied “Just tired.”

You’re about to forget it—convince yourself it was a one-time thing, a strange prank—when your eyes flicker across the hallway.

There, leaning against the far wall, flipping through a book like he’s indifferent to the world, is Alhaitham.

The school’s resident genius. Top of every class. Speaks as if the rest of you are equations to be solved rather than people.

You and your friends don’t interact with him much. He’s polite, but distant—aloof in a way that keeps most people at bay. It’s not that anyone dislikes him, but there’s something too precise about him, like he only engages when absolutely necessary.

Yet now… you can’t shake the feeling that his presence is off.

Because for someone so absorbed in his book, his gaze lifts at the exact moment you look at him.

And he holds your stare.

It lasts only a second before he turns the page, unreadable as ever.

You shake off the strange feeling and went home right after.

The second letter appears on Wednesday, slipped neatly into your locker between your notebooks.

You hesitated today before stepping into the classroom. As if something was weighing on your mind. I wonder, was it the letter? You can lie to your friends, but not to me.

After all, I know you better than you think.

This isn’t a joke.

The handwriting is the same, as if each word was chosen with purpose. The unsettling detail is there too, the kind that makes your skin prickle.

You glance around, paranoia creeping in. The hallway is full of students, everyone wrapped up in their own conversations, laughter echoing off the walls.

No one looks suspicious. No one is watching.

Still, you don’t mention it to your friends. Not yet. You tell yourself it’ll stop if you ignore it.

The Third Letter - Friday. This time, it’s waiting in your backpack when you reach for your notes.

You’ve stopped looking around as much. You’re trying to pretend this doesn’t bother you. Smart. But pointless. You will notice me soon.

Your hands are clammy as you shove it deep into your bag, heart hammering.

This is escalating.

Someone has been close enough to touch your things. Close enough to slip a letter into your backpack without you noticing.

You force yourself to act normal. Laugh at your friends’ jokes. Keep your routine. But the unease lingers, curling in your stomach.

---

It happens late on a Tuesday afternoon.

You’ve stayed behind to finish some work in the library, your friends already gone for the day. The school is quieter now, the usual buzz of voices replaced with the rustle of pages and the faint hum of the air conditioning.

You reach for a book from the shelf and—

Something slips out.

A letter.

Your breath catches as it flutters to the ground, face-up.

You recognize the handwriting immediately.

Your fingers shake as you pick it up. But before you can even read it, a shadow falls over you.

“I wouldn’t take that if I were you” a calm voice says.

Slowly, you turn.

Alhaitham stands there, hands in his pockets, unreadable as always. But this time, there’s something else in his gaze—something sharper.

It takes a second too long for you to find your voice. “...What?”

His eyes flicker to the letter in your grip. His expression remains impassive, but the air around him feels off.

“I was going to retrieve that later” he says simply, as if discussing the weather. “But I suppose this works too.”

No.

No way.

But the letter in your hands says otherwise. The handwriting. The way it just happened to be inside a book you grabbed.

It’s been him.

This entire time.

Alhaitham watches you carefully, as if calculating your next move.

“Well,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Now what will you do?”

[aikuwrld]

barou considers himself a man with patience— most of the time. he tries. he really does. he’s been practicing especially hard for you. barou also considers himself a realistic man— again, most of the time. what was he expecting? no, really, what exactly was he expecting when he had chosen to dorm with four other boys who seemed to foolishly believe that hygiene was a foreign, irrelevant, rather tedious concept? four boys whose spare time “bonding” was spent talking about their hook-ups with hot girls or debating how “glam” or “unglam” another team’s play was. and don’t even get him started on how they asserted their dominance through burping contests held almost every single day— how could a king end up with such misfortune?

of course he was the only one cleaning up after four boys who treated their dorms like nothing but a pigsty. sendou’s sweaty socks sprawled all over the floor after practice or a match when the laundry bin was not even three feet away, aiku’s spicy ramen packets still filled with powder littering the kitchen counter, niko’s skin care creams and manga abandoned on the bed and on the floor alike, and good god… was that… aryu’s strands of long hair all over the tub? it looked like something straight out of a horror movie. a plugged in hairdryer dangerously close to the sink— oh, he could gag… a man can only hold himself back for so long.

barou’s throat was nearly raw after yelling for everyone to tidy up after themselves at least a little before he’d start on the deep-cleaning for the day. it was a free day for everyone in the blue lock building which meant he’d finally have this dorm to himself. and he was going to spend it cleaning. that meant everyone had to leave. no exceptions. his head pounding so hard, so viciously, that he considered for a fleeting moment that strangling his teammates to death once they all came back from their day off and proceeding to bashing his head in after would be the smartest way out than dealing with another mess after all his hard work.

oh, but then there you are when he opens the dorm door after finally finishing up the last bit of cleaning for the day. the weariness racking his body disappearing while he leans against the door frame to look down at you, squeezing his broom tightly in what he believes strongly must be ‘cuteness aggression’ at the sight of your beaming, bright smile and your arms held out wide for a hug. and was that a basket of snacks for him in your hands? god, how could barou resist?

“hey, princess…” barou sighs out in a low voice, a small smile forming on his usually stoic face. a smile meant just for you.

without a second thought, almost as if it were second nature, barou props the broom against the wall before pulling you close to him. it must’ve been the longest hug he’d ever given you in your years together. not that you’d ever complain about that though. his tense, weary muscles relaxing as the smell of your shampoo dulls his senses. his eyes flutter shut while he presses gentle kisses on your shoulder, murmuring softly about how much he loved you and missed you.

he doesn’t waste any time at all to indulge in you, after all, he’d managed to finish cleaning up after ruthless animals, he was more than deserving of this— of you. barou keeps your warm body tucked in between his legs, back pressed against his chest with one hand on your waist, the other pushing back your hair to kiss at the nape of your neck while you tell him about his sisters that you’ve taken care of while he’s gone. how life is back at akita. how much you’ve missed him.

barou was taken aback when you suddenly pull away from him, a pang of disappointment hitting him before you’re telling him to move up. the mattress dipping from the weight of your knees as you crawl behind him, running your hands down the expanse of muscles as you pull him back a little.

“where are you going? come here, i wasn’t finished kis—”

“relax, sho. let me do your hair.” you giggle out, his eyebrows that were once furrowed suddenly washed away with a look of surprise.

barou melts in your arms seconds later, his worries dissolving while you tangle your nimble fingers through his soft hair. a groan leaving his lips while he shifts back comfortably, careful not to put so much weight against you. for someone who styled his hair with gel so often, it never failed to impress you just how soft and luscious it was. the red streaks— now a little dull from the constant washing still looked so good, you had to remind yourself to thank aiku some time for recommending it to your stubborn boyfriend in the first place.

“mm.. definitely needed this… thank you, baby..”

he groans out while you comb through the silky, smooth hair, the familiar scent of his shampoo and hair oil hitting your nostrils. barou was always adamant on using white musk oil after shampooing. it was his signature smell. it was the one step that really brought his routine together.

as your fingers glide through the lush strands, you marvel and coo at the softness, how long it seems to have gotten over the time he’s been gone. you let the strands cascade through your fingers while you appreciate just how his hair, usually disciplined and controlled like the man himself was on the field, was soft and loose— like this secret side of him. a secret side the king only gave you the privilege to see.

barou forgot about his stresses, about the grueling matches, the relentless practices he had, how the therapeutic hours he spent cleaning the dorm would be undone in half the time. around you, he didn’t have to worry about anything else. none of it mattered. you were always so good to him. so ready to love him and care for him. how could barou ask for more? the trust he had for you— the vulnerability to see him in such a relaxed state was for your eyes only. he wouldn’t have it any other way.

he’d lost. niou lost and all he felt was frustration. anger. disappointment. how could he have lost? his defense was outstanding. he’d sacrificed his usual hours at boxing practice to get it right. spent countless hours with aiku and darai to sharpen his skills. yet the hardest pill to swallow, the thing he couldn’t wrap his mind around was how could he have lost in front of you? his pretty baby. you were so proud of him. you’d given him the biggest kiss, cupping his face and telling him how well he’d play.

he looked up at the first half of the game and there you were. all dolled up in his jersey, showing off his name and number like a badge of honor, the brightest smile on your face. and all he could think about was how he could anticipate nagi’s next move and whether you’d prefer a wedding ring with vintage or modern style twist. his sweet angel in the front rows, best seat. and then he’d blinked, and before he knew it, he lost. and god. he was ashamed of himself.

he looked up while everyone lined up to bow at the end of the game to the crowd and noticed that your seat was empty. the weight of his loss only seemed to become heavier. niou had let not only his team down, but he had let you down too. it gnawed so mercilessly at him that while everyone clapped each other on the back and grumbled about dissecting the tactics used by the blue lock team to play better in the locker room, the usually boisterous and proud man stayed silent.

he stayed by the corner, slumped over a bench with heavy arms resting on his knees and a towel draped over his damp hair that covered the view of his face. the weight of everything slowly pressing down onto him at an unforgiving force; crushing him into place. he was ashamed to face anyone, least of all his damn self.

“hey, good defense back there, niou. you… you did good, alright?”

his captain’s gruff and unusually gentle voice breaking through the heavy air followed by a firm slap on his broad back that jolted him forward. niou grunted out a hollow ‘thanks’ in response.

it isn’t long before the chatter in the locker room dies out and empties. aiku was the last to leave, eyes never leaving niou as he looks back at his teammate with a sigh. he knew niou needed space. it was rare for the doberman to look so... defeated.

as the heavy door clicked into place and the footsteps faded off, niou steeped in the demeaning silence. the muffled drip of water from the shower heads blending in with the water droplets beading down his wet hair and hitting the tile floor. each rhythmic plop of water sounding heavier than the last. he swallow thickly, clenching his fists tightly until they were white, thumbs digging into the flesh of his palm.

he doesn’t lift his head when the door creaks opens again, assuming it’s most likely aiku back to coax him into grabbing a drink to swallow away all his sorrows or another one of his teammates who might’ve forgotten something in the locker room. it wasn’t until he heard it— his ears perked up at the familiar, light sound of footsteps. and when your voice cuts through the silence, his head shoots up, the towel on his head slipping off.

“kazuma? baby, what are you still doing here? i was in the back waiting for you to come out and— kazuma, you’re going to catch a cold, oh, your hair’s still wet and—“

he looks away; the shame twisting and pulling at his chest. how could he look you in the eyes after failing you with that sorry excuse of a performance? you must’ve been disappointed to call him yours, to wear his name on your back. you must’ve been embarrassed walking back to get to the locker rooms having to endure the pitying glances of everyone, you must’ve—

“kazuma, look at me.”

your voice is still soft as ever just firm and as tough as nails. it popped right through his bubble of self-loathing he’d grown comfortable suffocating in for the past hour. he knew better than to ignore you. he didn’t want to. even if he was disappointed in himself. he glances up at you with uneasy eyes, breaking contact to bend down to pick up the damp towel stalling for time to try to collect himself in some way before meeting your eyes again.

“i…”

niou starts, his mouth going dry as he swallows hard. trying his best to piece together what he so desperately wanted to say. niou sure as hell wasn’t a man who made excuses. he owned up to his shit. but, right now? right now, he was blanking out, hair uncomfortably soaked and slouched over like a loser trying to own up to something— a failure he never really expected in the first place in front of his lover.

“i’m sorry, baby. i don’t… you wore my jersey out there. proud as hell, cheerin’ for me and i couldn’t even give you a win. i just don’t understand… i worked ass off for this. and i still… i let everyone down, i…”

he doesn’t know what else to say, his voice dying down again and fading off into the silence again. he drops his heavy head once more, damp hair falling forward and slipping off his shoulders. his heart shattering as his own words seemed to have hit him like a bullet. it was unforgiving and sharp, his body crumbling.

“kazuma, come here, my love…”

you start, voice as soft and gentle as ever as you slide over next to him, wrapping an arm around the side of his neck to guide his head down on your shoulder. you could care less if the damp strands of his thick hair soak into your jersey. you press a lingering kiss on the top of his head, one hand cradling his head as the other holds onto the back of his shirt in an attempt to ground him to get your words to come through.

“i don’t come to your games expecting a win. i come because i love you. how could i ever love you any less because of a score? you worked so hard and gave it your all— i saw that. and i’m so proud of you. i love you. i always will.”

he’s suddenly still; his trembling fists relaxing as your words begin to sink in. for a second his body does limp in your arms as he sighs out shakily. god, it was all he wanted to hear from you and more. you were here. you always were.

“i… i don’t deserve you, baby. you know that?”

his warbling voice is thick with emotion, the cracks of disbelief and insecurity not going unnoticed by your trained ears. he looks up at you before bringing a large hand up to cup your face.

“you’re still here. i made all these mistakes and you’re still here.”

he croaks out, his chest tightened as his words slow down as he struggles to process everything.

“of course i’m here. where else would i be? look at this hair, hm? you didn’t even comb it, your beard still looks good as ever though.”

you grumble out, running your fingers through his hair and lifting it up before letting it flop back down, running a thumb over his facial hair to try to ease the tension.

“hold on, let me find the dryer and your brush. stay here.”

and he does exactly that. niou sits there, glossy eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. all he could think about is what he did to deserve you. he just can’t bring himself to look away— lost in this little blessing that’s you. how all his aches and pains seemed to unravel the tight, thorny hold it had on his poor heart.

it doesn’t take long until you’re back with the dryer, brush, and his bottle of oil, running your fingers through his hair as you tend to drying it off as quickly as you can. with every manageable comb through with your fingers, niou finds himself coming alive; cracking open bit by bit. slowly starting to become himself a little more with each joke you two crack or kiss he steals from you. his heart growing softer, his weary body lighter.

niou eagerly leans into your touch as you begin to work the brush through his hair, you’re standing in between his legs, combing carefully through the knots and working your way up to his scalp as the slight waviness begins to set in his dark hair, soft and loose. you bring lips down to kiss the hair occasionally, basking in the warmth. he has one arm around your waist and the other beneath the curve of your ass, squeezing the supple flesh of the back of your thigh once in a while as he rests his cheek against your stomach.

you’re finished in no time, rubbing in the egyptian musk oil into his hair. the comfortable silence settling around you both. the rich, masculine smell of wood and amber filling the room. he basks in the warmth of your working hands while you scratch at his scalp, bunching up the curled ends of his hair in your hands before letting them go. the soft clicking sounds of your rings brushing together creates the perfect sound that reminds him of stars twinkling up in the night sky.

“there we go, handsome. you look so good, baby.”

your hands cupping his face once more as you bring your lips down to kiss his, he has his arms wrapped around little tighter around your body before he’s breaks away.

“i love you,” he murmurs out against your lips.

“i love you. you’ll always be my man,” you reply out breathlessly, your heart swelling with nothing but affection and adoration.

“yeah? say it again.”

“god, you are just… my man. you’re my man.”

“again.”

“you’re my ma—“

you gasp out sharply, unable to finish your sentence he’s up on his feet with that mischievous glint dancing in his bright eyes and a smile you’d rather die now than live a hundred years without seeing. he throws you over his shoulder with ease and picks up his duffle bag with his free hand. he ignores your laughter and pleas to put you down as he kicks open the locker room door, heading towards the parking lot to his car outside, striding like a man who had won the absolute world.

ᣟ៹ ❤︎៝ : happy valentine’s day weekend!! spent mine eating burritos n typing this up n yearning .. i hope you guys treated yourself n had fun!! you deserve it. <3 i barely see anything for barou as it is but niou work is BARREN .. i hope i reached some niou fans out there pls i love him he is underrated !! i love both of my long haired princesses sm and i just KNOW they are absolute suckers for you and when you comb their hair they just fall in love pls .. i am sorry for any spelling mistakes in advance these came out a lot longer than i had expected omgg .. also got my first ask !! i am so excited to start writing that n those reiner hcs :3

[juchily]

Yellowjackets S3 Ep2 thoughts

spoilers below ⚠️

I'm laughing my fucking ass off, Mari's scared for her life screaming like an NPC and Ben is talking like a coach again... Honestly this has convinced me maybe Ben didn't set the fire (although before now I also have liked the theory other Tai did it, this just solidifies it a bit for me)

The switch from Ben yelling push to Mari and Shauna digging up her dead baby to hold him... Oh I'm crying. HE WASNT THERE WHEN SHE NEEDED TO BE TOLD TO PUSH AND NOW HES THERE TO TELL MARI! AGGH

Shauna burying her baby in a different place, rejecting the miracle and occult ideas of the wilderness the other girls have come to welcome

Misty the simp of all time

Taivan going to but "not going with them" lol they know Misty's just going to be trying to get comfy with Nat the whole time

Van's arms, that's it

Lottie's being problematic about inducing drug psychosis... Who would have guessed

Shauna actually saying something good about her family for once. Damn who knew all it took was for your kid to commit assault for you to start actually loving them

SIX WEEKS, HOW THE HELL IS LOTTIE OUT TF, I can't complain I guess

Lottie they were cruel af for calling psych on you (it's logical but coming from the YELLOWJACKETS it's just hypocritical) but those crocodile tears... The definition of grown ass puppy eyes. She sniffles!

Callie already ride and die for Lottie... Did she forget she SHOT her... Oh wait, I forgot that's literally Callie's dad obv she's ride or die 🤗

Jeff checking to make sure Lottie leaves to the porch before speaking his mind HAH

Van's got some PIPES, Taivan freaky once again everyone 👏

Walter and Misty are so simp4simp except Walter is the one person Misty won't simp for... She's digging her nose into that jacket and springing to attention AS SOON as Shauna calls... Walter can't believe this girl

wtf is up with Walter in that scene where Misty is talking to him. Dude looks like he's grieving, in depression, and scheming all at once I don't even know

Oh yeah Crystal, they didn't have a grave for her either (or mention her) on top of Laura Lee last episode (and before you talk about that theory that she doesn't exist, I'm pretty sure that's easily ruled out as not being possible)

Nat does not wanna talk to Misty... And she sure as hell is trying hard to hate Ben/look like she hates Ben... My Nat and Coach Ben friendship... I'm mourning

Callie's more afraid of Misty than Lottie (valid??) but this is hilarious she's immediately freaked out the contrast is insane

Nat sees the trap (Ben's) and tries to hide it, so obviously she doesn't actually want the girls to know/think he's alive, im wondering if she's found his traps before or not. Maybe she hasn't and that's another reason she gets super surprised

Anyways more Mistynat 😭😭😭 Nat's horrible at lying...

HOLY FUCK VAN'S ARMS 🙇🙇🙇

Wtf are lottie and Travis doing... Lottie stop feeding his psychosis baby 🙏

Lottie is sooo insane this season

Misty is absolutely failing at babysitting Lottie and Callie. Callie wants to get them drunk enough to talk sooo bad. Lottie IS the father

Mari and Ben team up?

Uh I just ate my words.

Anyways

A NOOSE??? Mari is not having a fun time, damn... She's catching Ls left and right

Now who was that in the bathroom???

These start up bros are super weird... And Shauna's catching them on their shit

They have ducks and bunnies 😵‍💫 absolute art

His name is Mortimer? His name is Mortimer!

Oh Travis deserves so much better my baby ❤️❤️

LOTTIE DONT, he needs a wilderness restraining order on her fr...

Why does Lottie make Travis the test dummy for this "communication"?? I'm interested because she isn't acting like this to any of the others, not even Nat (who sort of has the blessing of the wilderness)

Oh well Akilah is NOT safe now...

I KNEW IT! MISTY'S PLAYING THE CARDS IN HER FAVOUR TO GET ATTENTION. Shauna still doesn't like her though lol

Oh my Lord forget the Caligula dance number they FILMED THIS for a tv segment for the TV show...

Question is, what did Lottie spill to Callie while Misty was out cold?

Callie braiding Lotties hair <3

Misty just wants to have toxic one-sided codependent friendships Walter, what's so wrong about that? 🙄

Well Ben might be a bit insane

Ooo who laid flowers at wilderness baby's new grave?

Oh, well Melissa with her stupid ass boy shorts and that pretty crop top, she's so pretty 😍 her poor hat's gone MIA though

I'm gay, Melissa's gay, Shauna's a girl kisser

Shaunahat has to be one of the most interesting things i have ever seen

Oh they're freaky alright WITH THE KNIFE AT THE NECK STILL

Ending thoughts:

Want more Laura Lee... obviously I'm a sucker for Jane Widdop I would love to see them back on the show for flashbacks, but overall just an acknowledgment of Laura Lee this season ❤️

Is Ben insane? Is he hallucinating or actually talking to someone and we just can't see/hear them?

Wtf is up with teen Lottie?

What is going to happen with Callie regarding the Yellowjackets and the Wilderness?

I'm still manifesting a pig blood orgy like those mean highschool girls 🤷

More Shaunahat honestly 😈 , would love to see more teen Taivan

I don't think Akilah is going to be safe anymore after this episode since Travis just put Lottie on her.

[nuyhado3o]

Make you mine

Jaehyun x reader

Valentines / birthday special

Warnings: none

Genre: romance and fluff

A/n: it's you birthday today (today!!)

Valentine’s Day had always been a day of love, but for you, it held even more significance—it was also Jaehyun’s birthday. And if anyone deserved to be celebrated, it was him.

You had spent weeks planning the perfect evening, something that wasn’t just about romance but also about him—his warmth, his quiet strength, the way he made every ordinary moment feel special.

When Jaehyun arrived at your place that evening, dressed in a cozy sweater and jeans, his dimples appeared the moment he saw you. “Hey, Valentine,” he greeted, his voice smooth as he pulled you into a tight embrace.

You smiled, resting your head against his chest for a moment, savoring his familiar scent—clean, warm, and comforting. “Hey, birthday boy.”

Jaehyun chuckled, his arms still wrapped around you as he swayed slightly. “You didn’t have to do anything big. Having you here is already enough.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling away just enough to look at him. “Yeah, yeah, but I like spoiling you. Just let me, okay?”

He exhaled dramatically, playing along. “Fine. I’ll allow it.”

Taking his hand, you led him inside, where the living room had been transformed into a cozy sanctuary. Warm fairy lights glowed softly, candles flickered on the table, and the scent of his favorite home-cooked meal filled the air. But the real surprise sat at the center—a small projector set up in front of the couch.

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

You grinned. “Sit down and find out.”

He obeyed, his curiosity piqued. As the video began playing, soft music filled the room, and the screen flickered to life with clips of him—some he didn’t even know you had captured.

There was Jaehyun laughing in the car, eyes crinkled as he belted out an off-key song. There was him shooting hoops at the park, focused yet relaxed. Moments of him cuddled up on the couch, sleepily murmuring about how much he loved you. And in between, short messages from his closest friends and family played, each of them wishing him a happy birthday and telling him just how much he meant to them.

Then, your voice came in at the end, over a clip of him looking at you with soft, adoring eyes.

"Jaehyun, happy birthday! You’re not just the love of my life but also my best friend. Every day with you is special, but today, I hope you feel just how loved and cherished you are—not just by me, but by everyone who knows you. I love you, always."

When the video ended, the room was silent except for the hum of the projector. Jaehyun sat there for a moment, staring at the now-black screen, before turning to you. His brown eyes were glistening slightly, though he tried to mask it with a deep breath.

“You really did all this for me?” His voice was soft, almost in disbelief.

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “Of course, I did. You do so much for everyone else, Jaehyun. You deserve to be reminded of how much you mean to us—to me.”

He let out a deep breath before pulling you into his lap without warning, wrapping his arms tightly around you. His warmth enveloped you, and his heartbeat thudded steadily against your ear.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky with you,” he murmured, voice slightly muffled as he buried his face in your hair.

You smiled, running your fingers through the soft strands at the nape of his neck. “I was just about to say the same thing.”

He pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up, his gaze flickering between your eyes and lips before he pressed a lingering kiss to your mouth. It was slow and deep, filled with emotion—gratitude, love, and something unspoken but understood between you.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. “Best birthday ever.”

You giggled, your fingers tracing absentminded patterns on his shoulder. “Best Valentine’s Day ever.”

Jaehyun’s dimples appeared again as he smiled, shaking his head fondly. “You know what? Let’s make this a tradition. Every year, just you, me, and moments like this.”

Your heart swelled at the thought. “Deal.”

And as the night stretched on—filled with laughter, shared bites of cake, and whispered ‘I love you’s in the dim glow of fairy lights—you knew one thing for sure: Jaehyun wasn’t just your Valentine or the birthday boy. He was your forever, and every year, you’d remind him of just how much he was loved.

---

Happy Valentine’s Day & Happy Birthday, Jaehyun!

[agardenofbasil]

“you’re easy to love.” + pedri/ferran (ferran says it) thank you ❤️

A little angsty...

Ferran told them this is a bad idea. 

Somewhere out on the dance floor are their other teammates, who are finally letting loose after weeks of games and practices and media responsibilities. One weekend of rest before they have to gear up for the next La Liga matches. Hansi Flick warned them to be careful but otherwise, the world is theirs. And Ferran had every plan to be on the dancefloor with them, to think of anything until he saw Pedri at the bar. 

Ordering another drink. 

“This is a bad idea,” he warned Fermin, who ordered Pedri’s first drink and swore up and down that he’d keep an eye on him. Because Ferran remembers what happened in Berlin.

History has a way of repeating itself, Ferran thinks as he watches Pedri drain the glass.

“Everyone else has someone except me,” Pedri slurs.

“No. Half the team's single.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t I have anyone?”

“I don’t know,” Ferran sighs. “Maybe because you stay  at home and play with your dog all day?”

Pedri makes a face. “Is that a euphemism?”

“That’s the truth.”

“Can I get another-”

“No,” Ferran cuts in, looking the bartender dead in the eye. “He’s had enough.”

Another face. “I can decide when I’ve had enough.”

“Pedri.” Ferran shakes his head at the bartender, who, having seen God, walks towards another patron.

Pedri folds his arms, but stumbles forward. Ferran catches him swiftly, straightening him up even though the midfielder is still mad. “You have it easy,” Pedri insists. “You can… be tall.”

Ferran tries not to laugh. “What?”

“You’re tall,” Pedri yells, eyes bright like it’s the first time he’s noticed his height. 

“That’s not-”

“You could get anyone you want! I message one girl on Instagram and I get ghosted after five messages. What gives?”

Ferran swallows the hard lump in his throat. “I can't get anyone I want,” he grits out. 

“Then it's me.”

“It's not.”

“Maybe I'm too hard to love.”

“Stop.”

“That has to be it, right?”

Here we go. Just like Berlin.

“Pedri, you’re not-”

“There has to be!”

It’s not fun anymore. Being here. It’s worse than Berlin, where Pedri was moping about his leg. This time, Ferran’s watching Pedri slide straight into the hell that is self-doubt. 

Wait. No. Pedri’s literally sliding.

The midfielder’s head thumps against Ferran’s chest.

“For fuck’s sake-”

“I’m always alone.”

Among the noise, Pedri’s words send a chill down Ferran’s spine.

“Do you really feel that way?” Ferran asks. Pedri doesn’t answer. “Can you hear me?”

Still no answer.

“Dumbass thought he could handle three drinks. Idiot. Dumbass.”

Silence.

“You’re easy to love.”

Nothing. 

“Loving you is so damn easy. I would know. Been doing it for years.”

Pedri mumbles, and his head digs heavily into Ferran’s sternum.

“What?”

“I said, can we go home?”

Ferran tightens his arm around Pedri's shoulder, the same way his chest tightens when Pedri’s phone lights up from another Instagram notification. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

...but good news, you get a full Ao3 version. Hope you enjoy. 🍃